


January 1972

by rufus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blanketforts 06, Community: blanketforts, Gen, MWPP, first year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufus/pseuds/rufus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A month from the Marauders' First Year at Hogwarts. Originally published on LJ in 2006. (Before the Black Family Tree emerged, so I had to make up some names.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Years Day

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: 1/1 (New Years Day hangovers) and 1/2 (poem)
> 
> In which it's New Years Day, 1972, and Sirius is home with his parents, his mail and his treacle tart.

_January 1, 1972_

_Dear Sirius,_

_Hello! Happy New Year! Thank you for your letter and for the book about domesticating magical creatures. The section about dragons was especially interesting. Hagrid thought it was excellent; he asked me to find out where you got it from so he can get one of his own. (The book, not a dragon, that is, though he did carry on for rather a while about Welsh Greens.)_

_I spent last night with him and Elsie (dog), Nigel (clabbert; sat on my lap, face very alarming) and Margarita (fire crab); he wouldn’t let me have any firewhiskey so I snuck some from his cup when he wasn’t looking. Mostly it tasted of burning. And then I fell into some bramble bushes on the way back to the castle and Elsie got terribly over-excited about dragging me out again, so do not be surprised if I look rather a mess when you get here._

_Today I think I shall make a start on the new ship model Mum sent for Christmas and gorge myself on treacle tart. James apparently got taken to a joke shop in Diagon Alley for his Christmas, so I would keep an eye out for stray dungbombs and other things that might explode, if I were you._

_See you soon,_

_Remus Lupin_

**

“Does Master Sirius want anything else for breakfast?” Topsy asked, unfurling her ears. “Topsy has made up two plates of fried egs and bacon and sausage and toast for Master Sirius and Master Orion. Turvy has prepared pumpkin juice.”

“Treacle tart?” Sirius said, and gave the house-elf a hopeful look. Topsy’s ears rolled in and out twice in rapid succession. “Please, Topsy, it’s a holiday, and Mum’s out with Reg anyway, just a little bit of treacle tart? I won’t make myself ill this time, I promise –“ Sirius said, squeaking when a tiny plate of confection appeared next to his eggs.

**

 _Left; center, bounce twice; right; left again; center, hold still five seconds,_ Sirius recited to himself as he climbed the stairs to his father’s bedroom, his hands full of papers, the morning post, potion jar and the edges of his robes, new for Christmas from Aunt Elladora and slightly too large. But they were warm and soft against his skin, so he wore them despite his mother’s fussing about the trailing hems and too-long sleeves. His habit of wrapping his fingers (which were cold, so cold, because the house was chilly and damp) in his sleeves had been the subject of that morning’s argument, before his mum had bundled Regulus into his new coat (also from Aunt Elladora, although it fit properly) and left the house. _You will not go around looking like a common orphan!_ she had screamed, and waved her wand, making his sleeves shrink and the hem slide up. _I like my robes just as they are!_ he had screamed back, his sleeves lengthening with the force of his anger, and it had degenerated from there, until Regulus had started to cry and Sirius bolted for the kitchen and the more comforting fussing of the house-elves.

Sirius stamped his foot three times on the top step and flashed a smile at Topsy, who had been watching his progress anxiously from her place at the top of the stairs, underneath the steaming tray of breakfast. He tucked the papers and the post under one arm and knocked on the door. There was no answer.

“Papa?” he called, and knocked again, and there was still no answer. He pulled his wand out of his sleeve and prodded the door knob experimentally (he had learned not to touch it with his bare hands after encountering a Branding Hex one morning; he had had the imprint of a snake in his palm for months afterwards). The little snake uncoiled itself and hissed.

“Let me _in,_ ” Sirius said. “I have a potion for him, and breakfast. And the papers.” The snake rolled itself back up and the door popped open.

“Thank you,” Sirius murmured, and hitched up his robes again. His father’s room was dark, and smelled faintly as if someone had recently been ill. He heard Topsy muttering behind him and then the room was bathed in low light, and he could see the gigantic four-poster bed with the erumpent feet and heavy black velvet hangings, the walls lined with bookshelves and the bedside table with the dragonsfoot base. Topsy moved around him, set the tray down on the table and cocked her head at Sirius. He mouthed _Thank you_ and she disappeared.

“Papa?” he said again, and there was an answering groan from the bed. Encouraged, Sirius crossed the room and pulled back the edge of the bed curtains to reveal a largish, black-haired lump in the bedclothes. Sirius set his various burdens down on the rough blankets and climbed up on the bed, tucking his feet beneath him. Sleeping, groaning fathers had to be approached very carefully.

“I brought you a potion,” he said, and the lump shifted as a slender white hand emerged and patted the periphery of the lump. Sirius pushed the potions bottle closer and the hand closed around it, and pulled it back into the lump. After a while the lump uncurled and the rest of Sirius’ father emerged, sleep-reddened and, Sirius noted, still wearing the same clothes as the night before.

“Good boy,” his father said, rubbing his eyes, and Sirius ducked his head. “Is that eggs I smell? And bacon?”

“Yes, Papa. I brought the papers, too, and the post –“ Sirius began, and his father made a pleased noise.

**

Sirius balanced his plate on his knees and ate his eggs as quietly as possible. His father munched on a sausage and made irritated noises from behind the Prophet. The room was warmer than the rest of the house, and his father had cast a refreshing charm, so the air now smelled vaguely of oranges. Sirius had sorted through the post, making neat little piles on the bed, one for friends, one for relations, one for letters from the Ministry. His own letters he had under his plate. He had read Remus’ first, before anything else, taking note of the shaky handwriting and numerous ink splashes, sure signs that Remus was far more ill that he was letting on. 

“Ooh, bad luck, old boy,” his father said, lowering the paper, and Sirius looked up. “Rigel Lestrange had his house raided yesterday morning,” his father said. “I’m sure he’ll be hearing from your Uncle Perseus this morning. Doesn’t do to have that sort of thing going on during engagement negotiations. I’m sure it will be properly sorted out, but, you know, it’s the look of the thing – so awkward --very unfortunate.”

“Mmm,” Sirius grunted, picking up a sausage and tugging Peter’s letter out from under his plate. 

**

_January 1, 1972_

_Dear Sirius,_

_I’m at James’! His mum makes really good pie. He got a train for Christmas and his dad just set it up in the back garden. We are making the house-elves take rides on it, though his mum seems to think it puts them off the cooking. I rode on it too, but it certainly didn’t put me off eating._

_Last night all of James’ neighbors came ‘round and we set off the most enormous crackers in the back garden. His mum wouldn’t let us have any of the firewhiskey or any punch so we had to drink butterbeer, which was a bit naff. I am still full of bubbles. Also James said to tell you we will be sitting in the car nearest the engine tomorrow if you would rather sit with us that with your nasty relatives._

_See you soon!_

_Peter Pettigrew_

_p.s. Thank you for the chocolate, it was really good! James and I ate it all on Christmas morning._

**

Sirius was grinning at the thought of house-elves riding a train around James’ back garden when his father (ignoring his own post, that Sirius had so carefully organized) reached over, moved his plate, and tugged all of his letters off his lap. 

“Let’s see here – Lupin, Pettigrew, Potter. Is that the Orcadian Lupins or the Essex Lupins?”

Sirius balled his hands into fists but kept them hidden in his sleeves. _Mine,_ he thought. _Those were my letters._ He looked down at his lap, letting his hair slide forward to cover his face. 

“Orcadian,” he said, making his voice steady with an effort, because his father was prone to swift hexings at the smallest provocation.

“Mmm, that’s a shame, I was at school with one of the Essex Lupins – Augustus, I think – he was much more our sort. Ravenclaw, you know, but they can be useful to have around. I think it was his older brother Romulus who married a Muggle, wasn’t it? Mm, yes, that was why they moved to Orkney, couldn’t be received in civilized society.”

 _No,_ Sirius thought, _Remus was ill, England was making him ill. They moved so he could be better and so his Gran could help look after him._

“Hmm, Pettigrew, Pettigrew, the name is familiar –“ his father picked up the paper again and studied the front page, as if looking for something. “Oh yes, _Paul_ Pettigrew, he’s in the Department of Magical Accidents, isn’t he? Magic Reversal Squad, I think –“

“Yes,” Sirius said, softly, but didn’t look up.

“Seen him at all-staff meetings, I think -- enormous bear of a man. Still wears his Hufflepuff scarf when he’s out and about, I heard. Married – who was she, now – oh, yes, he did have to marry that Muggle, terribly unfortunate. Always be sure your girls know conceptus charms, Sirius – “

 _It’s not like that,_ Sirius thought, angry for Peter’s sake, and slightly embarassed as well. He had walked through his mothers conversations with her sisters and friends, he knew about the whispering and the pursed lips, the sniffing and the muttering, the witches who showed up to parties in loose robes, with over-large jewelry accompanied by wizards wearing expressions of muted despair, but he refused to see Peter’s mum and dad that way. Peter’s parents had a closed Floo and a funny box that fit a whole street in it if you attached it to the wall (Sirius was vague on the details) and his mum baked the best cookies, that Remus said tasted happy. 

“ – Potter – honestly, Sirius, do you have any sense at all—making friends with a Potter, of all people -- what did you say his father’s name was, again?”

“Henry,” Sirius said, shuffling back up against the headboard and pulling his knees up to his chest. 

“Can’t be the same Henry Potter I knew,” his father murmured, squinting at the James’ messy scrawl on the envelope. “Far too old to have a child in your year. Must be his son’s child.”

“James said his dad brought Grampa in one time, and that he bought his Order of Merlin,” Sirius said, dropping his head onto his knees and waiting for the flash of light (hopefully not green), but it didn’t come.

“And what did you say, Sirius?” his father said, very softly, and Sirius sighed into his arms.

“I stuck him to the Common Room wall until he took it back,” he muttered, and his father laughed, but it was a pleased laugh. Sirius looked up and smiled, and then joined his father in the laughter, remembering James’ purple face and waving arms and the gasps of the portraits. James had gotten his own back later, of course, by making Sirius’ bed smell of erumpent dung for a week (Sirius had slept with Remus until it wore off), but it had been well worth it.

“Having you sorted into Gryffindor has been terribly unpleasant for us,” his father said, and the laughter stilled. “Your mother wanted to pack you off to Durmstrang immediately after Christmas, you know,” his father continued, and Sirius nodded. He had heard them talking from his favorite perch on he stairs, and he was grateful his father had insisted that the term was too far along, and that Durmstrang was far too far away for them to properly monitor his education. 

“But it’s done now, and that wretched old man insists it cannot be undone. You have been Sorted, and we must all face the consequences. So you must be very careful about your friends -- Lupin and Pettigrew will have to go, of course, you can’t be seen associating with them -- but Potter may have – possibilities. His father’s politics are excreable, but – perhaps James could be – brought ‘round to the right way of thinking. Hmmm?” 

_Probably not_ , Sirius thought, remembering the way James' face had contorted when he realized that a _Black_ had been sorted into Gryffindor, and the way he had loudly told Peter and Remus to pay attention during their first Defense course, and given Sirius a hateful look. After a minute his father handed his letters back to him and Sirius folded them neatly, knowing better then to be seen clutching them to his chest.

“Come help me with the crossword while I read my post,” his father said, patting the space of bed next to him, and Sirius stuck the letters back under his plate, picked up the treacle tart, settled himself against his father’s side and reached for the quill. Sometime later he felt arm around on his back, and stubbly cheek brushed against his forehead, and then his eyelids grew terribly heavy, and slid shut.

**

_January 1, 1972_

_Dear Sirius,_

_Thank you for the Quidditch book. Dad showed me some of the moves so I will know what they are supposed to look like so I can practice when we get back to school. He still won’t let me bring my broom up, even though I asked and asked and asked. Stupid rules._

_Peter came ‘round yesterday, along with the rest of the neighbors, and Dad and I made lots of things explode. The Prewitt twins came ‘round as well and set the punch on fire. Mum was very annoyed. I told her really anyone could have dropped their wand in by accident – not fair to blame it on them, when it was Uncle Mephastus who put all that Muggle drink in the Wizarding punch._

_See you tomorrow, I suppose._

_James Potter_

_p.s. Remus said he fell in a bramble bush and Elsie had to pull him out so he might be a bit of a mess. I don’t see why Hagrid didn’t pull her off straightaway. He **likes** Remus. Poor Remus has the worst luck with dogs – but at least he didn’t get mauled by his Gran’s crups again. _


	2. Flowers and Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius returns to Hogwarts, where he encounters a pirate ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: 3 (pink flower and snow)
> 
> WARNINGS: Pureblooded nastiness.

Sirius sat in the parlor, his trunk at his feet, and waited, fidgeting in itchy formal robes. He did not see why he had to get all dressed up to get on the train, but his mother had drawn her wand and insisted. He picked at the green piping _(Slytherin green)_ on his sleeves and bounced one leg and then the other, listening hard for the creaking that would be his parents coming down the stairs.

Instead he heard a muffled crash, a scream, and some distant shouting and automatically stilled himself. After a while he detected his father’s heavy tread, and then the door swung open.

“Your mother is – feeling unwell, this morning,” his father said, and Sirius noted the tension in his shoulders and the way his hands were clenched into loose fists. “Are you ready to depart?”

“Yes, Papa,” Sirius said, standing up.

“Go and say goodbye to your mother,” his father said, fishing in the pocket of his robes. Sirius waited until he had extracted a small, empty glass globe. He tapped his wand against it once a small pink and yellow flower appeared in a tiny bed of snow. “Take this to her for me – I meant to give it to her earlier – perhaps it will help her feel better, hmm?”

Sirius took the tiny globe (which was warm, in his hand, not cold, as he had expected) and climbed the stairs to his mother’s room, murmuring the pattern to himself. He prodded the cobra-shaped doorknob with his wand and waited. The snake stuck its metallic tongue out and waved it at him, and Sirius pulled a face at it.

“Mum?” he called, after a while, and the door opened to reveal his mother sitting at her vanity, hunched over a bowl of something that smelled like blood, the room lit only by candles. 

“Oh, it’s you,” she snapped, and Sirius looked down at the floor.

“We’re leaving for the train,” he said, softly, and she made a pleased noise. “Papa sent this up for you,” he added, looking up, and held out the glass globe containing the flower. His mother took it and peered at it, her lips curving into a smile that did not quite make her eyes. 

“Pretty,” she said, softly, and set it on her vanity, next to the bowl. “Now get out, Gryffindor,” she added, and her smile broadened when he flinched.

“I told you it wasn’t my _fault,_ ” he said, and felt himself flush with anger, as she bent over her bowl, tucking a few strands of black hair behind her ears. The candlelight softened her face “It was the _Hat._ ”

“The Hat does not think, Sirius, it merely measures. Clearly it found you wanting, it found you unworthy to enter the House of your fathers,” she said. “It found you to be no better than blood traitors, half-breeds and Mudbloods –“ she began, and Sirius inhaled sharply, thinking of the redheaded girl in that sat next to him in Charms, the one James Potter had loudly told to watch out for Sirius, because he was Dark wizard and hated Muggleborns. She had inched away from him, her green eyes dark with worry, and he had wanted to _hurt_ Potter. And then she had been the first to make her feather fly, while he and James had struggled and glared at each other, all of their _swishing_ and _flicking_ coming to naught. 

But eventually he had got it to work, and she had given him a brilliant smile. Then James made his feather tickle her nose, which made Peter laugh, and the girl had turned away suddenly. Sirius thought of the smile and the worry and the way her shoulders had hunched and felt his fists clench. _I don’t hate you,_ he had wanted to tell her. _I don’t._

“Blood has nothing to do with magic, the Muggleborns are just as good as Potter and I, and Remus –“ he began, but his mother interrupted him, choking him off with a lazy wave of her wand that sent pain lancing through him, as if he were being pinched by a thousand bony fingers.

“You are not just foolish, Gryffindor, you are also disgracefully careless, associating with the Potter brat. You shame us -- you shame me, for I bore you. Now get out. Your father will be waiting, and he has many more important errands to do today,” she added, and turned back to the bowl.

“Yes, Mum,” he said, and made his way back down the stairs. He paused in front of the nursery, pushed the door open, and saw his brother reading by the fire. 

“Reg,” he said, softly, and got no answer. “Reggie,” he said, louder, and two startled blue eyes looked up at him. “See you in March, then.”

“Don’t call me that, Gryffindor,” his brother snapped, making an irritated face. “You know it isn’t genteel. Tell Papa not to forget my new broom, it’s been ready for hours now,” he added, and looked back down at his book.

_I’ll miss you too,_ Sirius thought, as he closed the door. 

**

Sometime later, after his father had hugged him and ruffled his hair, and he had dodged around Lucius Malfoy with an excuse about needing the bog, Sirius found James and Peter reading Quiddith magazines on the Hogwarts Express, in the carraige nearest the engine, just as Peter had saidin his letter. James glanced up and nodded when he opened the doors, and then went back to his magazine. Sirius scanned the open seat for dungbombs but didn’t see any, and decided it was safe to sit down. 

“Did you have a good Christmas, Sirius?” Peter asked around a mouthful of chocolate frog. 

“Yes, Black, did Mummy and Daddy buy you everything you asked for from Borgin & Burkes?” James muttered, and Sirius stiffened. _Don’t let him bait you,_ Remus whispered in the back of his mind, and he tried to relax.

“Yes, Peter, I did,” he said. “How was yours?” 

“I got the most awful jumper from Gran – time to take her knitting needles away, I reckon, when she’s gone and decided that orange, purple and turquoise stripes are the latest fashion – there’s bobbles on the sleeves, as well, and they’re yellow – Mum made me write her a thank-you note, can you imagine? – but Uncle Dave gave me the most fantastic omnoculars –“ Peter said, and Sirius arranged his face in an attentive expression, letting Peter’s endless stream of words wash over him while he watched James out of the corner of his eye. But the other boy seemed quite intent on his magazine, the occasional snort or “bloody idiot ref!” the only comments he made.

_Why did you tell me to come and sit with you?_ Sirius thought, only half-focused on making interested noises at key points in Peter’s especially long recitation of the number of puddings he had consumed (at least ten, by Sirius’ count) on Christmas Day. _You are not just foolish, Gryffindor, you are also disgracefully careless, associating with the Potter brat_ his mother hissed in his memory; _so you must be very careful about your friends -- Lupin and Pettigrew will have to go, of course, you can’t be seen associating with them -- but Potter may have – possibilities. His father’s politics are excreable, but – perhaps he could be – brought ‘round to the right way of thinking,_ his father added, and Sirius rubbed at his eyes with irritation. _Shut UP, both of you,_ he thought, and suppressed a sigh.

“Oh do shut up, Peter, no-one cares how much roast goose you ate,” James snapped, jerking Sirius back to the present. Peter made a huffing noise but settled into silence, glaring at Sirius.

“So, er, James, what’s the latest on the Falcons?” Sirius said, and they talked about Quidditch for a while, until the snack cart came by. Eventually Peter fell asleep, and James went back to his magazine, and Sirius pulled out a book and read about dragons for a while, because that was always soothing.

**

Later, he found Remus in the Gryffindor Common Room by the fire, bundled up in thick woolen robes and a blanket over his shoulders. He was sitting cross-legged behind a low table, a ship model half-assembled in front of him, his walking sticks propped against the couch. Sirius watched him glue tiny pieces of wood together for a while, still amazed that Remus did all of the fiddly work wandless, like a Muggle.

“Which one is that, then?” he said, and Remus made a humming noise that Sirius reckoned meant _Hello, but I can’t talk right now._

“The Queen Anne’s Revenge, mate, that’s ruddy hard,” Peter said from behind him, and Remus smiled. 

“Pirates!” James said, and made a hooting noise. “Avast ye, matey!” he added, and disappeared up the stairs to the dorm, Peter at his heels, hollering about rum and dead men’s chests.

Sirius sat down on the floor across the table from Remus, and Remus made the humming noise again. Sirius hummed back at him with a slightly different inflection, which made Remus snort with suppressed laughter.

“Was it lonely here without us?” he asked, after a while, and Remus shrugged one shoulder, the rest of him bent over a complex piece of rigging. Sirius squinted at him, checking what little exposed skin there was for signs of the injuries Remus had mentioned in his letter. His face was a little paler than usual, and there were bandages wrapped tightly around his palms. 

“Was he very awful?” Remus said, not looking up. “James, I mean, on the train.”

“No,” Sirius said, and rubbed at his eyes again. “He snapped at Peter, but nothing exploded.”

“Mm-hmm. Yet. Right, that’s enough for today, I think –“ Remus said, and straightened up, his face tightening with pain. Sirius made a noise in the back of his throat and Remus shrugged again. “Thorn bush, remember,” he said, “lots of sticky things. Pomfrey was well annoyed, having to pull them all out of me.”

“No more firewhiskey for you, young man,” Sirius said firmly, standing up, and Remus chuckled.

“Indeed, I have learned the error of my wicked ways,” he said, carefully settling the half-finished model into its box, and scooping up the unused pieces. Sirius leaned over and picked up the box, Remus reached for his sticks and levered himself upright, and they ascended the stairs together.


	3. Camomile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Remus and Sirius have an early morning snack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 4 (first cup of tea on a cold morning)

There were times when Remus did not so much miss his parents as the warm space between them in the bed that could keep the promise of a restful sleep if he crawled into it, and this was one of those times, because he was awake, and it was making him very irritable. He tried lying on his back with his eyes closed and visualizing sheep climbing over a stile, but he kept getting distracted from his counting by the part of his brain that wanted to catalog the sheep by breed, so he gave that up and rolled over on his stomach. That was how he found out that his pillow was intolerably hot and also smelled funny. He flipped the pillow over but it still smelled funny. 

So he tried curling into a little ball with his back against the headboard but the position pulled at his slowly-healing scars, which hurt, so he tried lying down flat again and trading the sheep for cows, but the cows couldn’t get themselves all the way over the stile, they kept getting stuck and mooing and making distressed cow faces at him, which was both absurd and upsetting. Then his stomach started to rumble, and that was when he gave up.

“Fine,” he muttered to the darkness, and sat up. His stomach rumbled again, and he realized he was also very thirsty. “I heard you,” he said, and felt around the edge of the bed for his sticks. “Bloody freezing in here, I hope you’re happy,” he added, his fingers orientating themselves around a pair of bone ears.

“Wmmph?” said the bed next to his, and Remus made a shushing noise, as he found the other stick and heaved himself off the bed. He didn’t much care for the sticks, but they had been necessary for the cover story, and, as it turned out, had come in rather handy after he had tried to bite his own leg off during his first full moon at school.

He felt around the cold stone floor with his foot until he found his slippers, and then – using one stick for extra stability – tugged his dressing gown, hat, school cloak and gloves off the top of his trunk and onto his bed. He had pulled everything on and was murmuring a silencing charm over the bottom of his sticks when the bed next to his made another bleary inquisitive noise. Remus shushed it again and made his way towards the door. He was in the process of opening it very slowly when it creaked quite loudly. James snorted in his sleep and rolled over; Peter sat up for a second, and then lay back down. Remus waited, but Sirius said nothing, so he opened the door further, and it creaked twice as loudly as the first time.

“Where y’goin’?” Sirius said, emerging from his bed curtains, squinting against the light. He had creases on his face from his sheets, his hair was sticking up at odd angles, and his nighshirt looked as if he had put it on backwards.

“Kitchen,” Remus hissed, and James sat up, as if someone had pulled a string in his toes.

“Cloak,” he said, and gestured towards his trunk. “Detention. Points.” he added, and lay back down, settling back into snoring.

“Can I come?” Sirius asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 

“Cloak,” Remus said, and he heard Sirius whisper Lumos before approaching James’ trunk. There were a few muffled thuds before Sirius walked over to Remus, half his arm apparently missing.

“Cold,” Sirius said, sounding surprised, as Remus took the cloak from him.

“Go on then, I’ll wait for you,” Remus muttered, and Sirius grinned. Remus settled the Cloak around his shoulders and listened to Peter mumble about trolleys and goats and funny starfish while Sirius bundled himself up so thoroughly that Remus was half-sure he was visiting the kitchens with an ambulatory pile of wool.

He lifted the edge of the cloak when he felt Sirius’ fingers poking at his shoulders, and they slipped out the door. It was awkward, they discovered, managing two sets of legs as well as two sticks under one cloak, but Sirius was too sleepy to get cross about the occasional intersection of knee and scrimshaw, and they made their way down to the kitchen without major incident.

Remus rubbed the pear and smiled at it when it giggled, then followed Sirius into the kitchen. He noticed that the house-elves did not seem especially surprised to see them, and in fact, that there were two sets of plates and flatware already laid out on the table. Sirius made a contented noise and set down; his plate promptly filled with treacle tart. Remus made a face at his back.

“Would Master Remus like some tea?” said one of the elves – Remus thought her name might be Dilly. She was wearing a dishtowel that could, theoretically, be described as “festive”. It had little snowmen on it wearing little black hats. It seemed to be humming a tune.

“Do you have any camomile?” he asked, and her ears furled in and out. He had come to understand that this was House-Elf for _Of course we do, silly wizard,_ and so he sat down and was only slightly surprised when what seemed to be a cheese toastie (possibly with sausage inside) appeared on his plate. 

“Wha’s camolile?” Sirius asked, around his tart. 

“Camomile. It’s a sort of tea. Good for sleeping,” Remus said, and took a bite of his toastie, which did, in fact, include sausage.

“Potion for that,” Sirius said, and Remus shrugged.

“Doesn’t taste as nasty,” he said, and Sirius made an understanding noise. Then Dilly appeared with a mug of tea, and Remus wrapped his hands around it and bathed his face in the steam. Sirius belched softly and pushed his plate away.

“Does Master Sirius want anything else? Custard pie? Chocolate cake?” Dilly asked, but Sirius said no, thank you, and the elf’s ears furled in an out again. Remus decided that clearly that particular gesture had more than one meaning.

**

Sometime later, after Remus had had a slice of chocolate cake and prodded Sirius awake with the end of one of his sticks, they rustled and bumped their way back up to the Tower. Sirius dropped the Cloak on James’ trunk as Remus unwound himself from his scarf.

“Like treacle tart,” Sirius murmured in the darkness, and Remus could hear him settling down in his bed. “Have to not make m’self sick. Elves don’t like it. Won’t give me any more.”

“Hmph,” Remus said, because he hated treacle tart, it was sticky and too-sweet and foul, it made him ill just _thinking_ about it. But Sirius was quiet after that, so Remus reckoned he must have gone back to sleep.

His pillow still smelled kind of funny, and his scars were sore (and now also itchy) so Remus lay awake in the darkness for a while longer, counting the days until the next full moon, and working on his next bit of subterfuge. He thought subterfuge sounded better than “lie”, even in the privacy of his own mind, mainly because it made him feel more like a secret agent and less like a leper. 


	4. View from Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snowball fight, and a parental visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 5 (boots in melting snow)

“It’s snowing!” James said, waving his knife at the ceiling. “Big clumpy snow!” 

“Snowfort!” Peter said, stabbing another piece of chicken with his fork. 

“Snowball fight!” Sirius said, standing up as if he were going to bolt outside right that very second and commence forming his weapons. Remus tugged on his cloak until he sat back down.

“After class,” Remus said. “So we’ll have time to lay the fort out properly.”

Across the room, a Hufflepuff stood up and shouted something indecipherable in the general direction of the Ravenclaw table, and then one lone Ravenclaw stood up and said something that sounded like “Come on then, if you think you’re hard enough,” and Remus gathered that, generally speaking, the Snow War was _on._ He pushed aside his chicken pot pie and pulled a piece of parchment and a quill out of his pocket, and began to sketch. 

**

Two hours later they escaped from Professor Flitwick, and were carried outside by a wave of murmuring Hufflepuffs and flinty-eyed Ravenclaws. They staked out a bit of snow beneath a tree (James had insisted upon a tree), and Remus and Peter built the main wall of the snow fort while James and Sirius made the snowballs, stacking them behind the emerging ramparts like small white cannonballs. They were actually one outpost in a choppy sea of snowforts; hard-packed walls zig-zagged across the grounds, creating little mismatched pockets of neutral zones and no-man’s lands. The Slytherins, Remus noticed, seemed to have disappeared, which struck him as both unusual and unlikely.

Remus was tapping a crenellation into place when something very cold made contact with the back of his neck, and he heard James whooping with laughter behind him. 

“Wanker,” he said, crouching and preparing to return fire, when another snowball, this one from outside the fort, went whistling past his ear and collided with Sirius’ chest with a wet thump. 

**

Romulus and Maeve Lupin tumbled out of the Headmaster’s Floo shortly after two o’clock, brushing the ash off their shoulders and taking their cloaks off before they were even upright, while stamping the snow off of their boots.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Romulus said, inclining his head. “Professor McGonagall. My wife, Maeve. Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

“You are welcome here any time, Romulus, and you too, Maeve. Sherbet lemon?” Dumbledore said, picking a crystal bowl off of his desk.

“No, thank you, sir,” Romulus Lupin said, sitting down and folding his hands in his lap. 

“Oh yes please,” Maeve Lupin said, leaning forward to pick up one of the candies. She had blonde hair and a narrow, pretty face. Her husband wore simple work-robes, black with muted grey piping, and a Ravenclaw scarf, but she was wearing thick black corduroy trousers and a pale blue cable-knit jumper. She was slender, but not fragile; her hands suggested she was no stranger to outdoor work.

“I take it you had an—uneventful journey?“ Dumbledore said.

“The Three Broomsticks was, for once, uncrowded,” Romulus said, and Maeve shrugged.

“Fifteen years with a wizard and I’m still a bit unused to telling the fireplace where I want to go,” she said, and Dumbledore smiled.

“Your letter said you had some – concerns?” McGonagall said, leaning forward to catch Maeve’s eye. “I am Remus’ Head of House –“

“I just – wanted to know he’s all right,” Maeve said, and sat down next to her husband. “He writes every week, as we agreed, and he seems happy enough, but –“ she began, and took a deep breath. “He wouldn’t lie, not to me – not to us -- he’s a good boy –“

“But we haven’t seen him since September – I don’t want to embarrass him, have him be the only boy whose Mum and Dad come to check up on him, like he can’t look after himself at school,” Romulus cut in, and Dumbledore made a noise of comprehension, stood up, and crossed the room to his window.

“ _Accio omnioculars,_ ” he said. “If you all will join me at the window,” he added, and handed the omnoculars to Maeve.

“That’s quite a snow fort someone’s built down there,” she said, amusement curling the edges of her lips into a smile. “Oh! There he is! Rom, look –“ she began, and her husband took the omnioculars from her hand.

“Good shot, Remus,” he murmured, “go on, have another go, there’s another Hufflepuff right in front of you –“

“Honestly, Rom,” Maeve said, laughter in her voice, and took the omnioculars back. Her husband backed away from the window, grinning faintly.

“He said some of the transformations have been – rough –“ he said, turning to the headmaster, and Dumbledore nodded slowly.

“Madame Pomfrey has written an update to her usual monthly report for you,” Dumbledore said, gesturing at a scroll on his desk. “But she did tell me he is, overall, holding up well. And he has kept up with his classwork with remarkable tenacity.”

“He seems to be struggling with Potions,” Romulus said, jamming his hands in the pockets of his robes.

“His strengths do lie elsewhere – Professor Flitwick has been particularly impressed with his work in Charms, and Professor Sinistra tells me he is well ahead of everyone else in his Astronomy class,” the Headmaster said.

“To be expected, I suppose, I was never any good at Potions either,” Romulus murmured, “that was really more Augustus’ thing, wasn’t it?”

“Your brother had a keen command of a cauldron, yes,” the Headmaster said, and turned back to the window, where Maeve and McGonagall had their heads bent together, the omnoculars resting, forgotton, on the window ledge between them. He could hear them talking, their Scottish burrs rubbing up against each other, and he knew Minerva was making an extra effort to project calm. 

“She worries,” Romulus said, “she isn’t used to him being – so far away.”

“Neither are you,” Maeve said, but gently, turning to face them. “Thank you, Headmaster – Professor – I feel much better now. We should go, Rom –“

“Yes, all right,” he said, and they pulled their cloaks back on and stepped into the fireplace.

**

“Slimy Slytherin BASTARD!” James bellowed, and reared back to fire a snowball into Severus Snape’s smirking face, which had suddenly appeared behind the low wall of their snow fort.

“Foolhardy Gryffindor,” Snape drawled, and ducked, so that the missile skated over his curled back, and then reared up again, his arm cocked and released before Remus or anyone else could move, and James screamed his continued defiance through a faceful of snow before leaping over the wall in hot pursuit, Peter at his heels.

“Invisibility Potion,” Sirius said, sending a snowball hurtling towards a lurking Ravenclaw, and he sounded almost admiring. “Lucius did say he had been working on that one, recently.”

“I don’t think it was Lucius who was working on it,” Remus murmured, ducking the Ravenclaw’s reply. He dropped into a crouch behind the wall and scanned the battlefield. Two of the Hufflepuff outposts had been overrun by Slytherin, and he could see a Ravenclaw Prefect shouting orders and encouragement at his troops as they formed up to meet a Slytherin advance. James had chased Snape into a knot of Second Year Gryffindors, but Remus could see Lucius Malfoy advancing rapidly upon them, trailed by Crabbe and Goyle, two enormous Second Years whose arms were laden down with snowballs.

“Follow me – we’ll cut around behind them –“ Remus said, and scooped up a couple of extra snowballs and handed them to Sirius.

“Malfoy hates snow down his back,” Sirius said, with a predatory smile, “this is going to be _fun._ ”


	5. Back to the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius counts his teeth (badly) and Remus tells him a bed-time story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 6 
> 
> Beneath a night no longer May,  
> Where only cold stars shine,  
> One glimmering ocean spreads away  
> This haunted life of mine;  
> And, shattered on the frozen shore,  
> My harp can never wake,--  
> When will this night of death be o'er?  
> When will the morning break?  
> \- William Winter, "The Night Watch"
> 
> WARNINGS: Nightmares, discussion of death and a kind of sad story-within-a story.
> 
> OTHER NOTE: For more about Orcadian folklore, especially magical creatures, make a visit [here.](http://www.orkneyjar.com/folklore/sea.htm)

_Daylight outside, but dim inside, and cold, so cold. The dining room table set for dinner, with the heavy green velvet tablecloth and Goblin silver, candles winking and flickering, the room smelled of burning, something was burning, they had to get out, he tried to tell them but no-one would listen. Mum drew her wand and he had to sit down in the chair, his feet didn’t touch the floor and the table was up too high, he could barely see the food on the plate. It smelled like raw meat, like blood, old blood, and rotten and dead. Eat, his mother said, but the forks were too large, he tried to pick one up but it was too heavy and awkward to eat with properly, and when he tried to put it down it stuck to him, the raised crest digging into his palm. He hid his hands in his lap, trying to pull the fork free, but the metal sliced at his fingers, there was blood everywhere, it made everything slippery and warm --_

_\--but the stones were clammy and hard under his hands, and it was dark, so dark, he tried to stand up but his knees wouldn’t work, he kept falling –_

_\--on something soft, something a little warm, silky, squishy, he couldn’t get a foothold, so he crawled, and his father’s voice whispered “Lumos” and there were eyes everywhere, bulging eyes, staring, there were thin-lipped mouths lapping at him, at his wrists and knees, spindly fingers grabbing, grabbing at his robes, he tried to sit up but the fingers pulled him down –_

_\--to where he could hear the whispering, pushing at him, singing, calling him, this way, this way, this way, through here, and the door fell open, and the floor fell away, he was falling, he was screaming—_

Sirius jerked awake and hauled in a breath, counting slowly as his governess had taught him, enumerating all ten of his fingers and his toes, running his tongue through his mouth to count his teeth, squinching his eyes shut with the force of his concentration. After he had accounted for each molar he sat up and breathed some more, looking at Remus’ bed, wondering if Remus would mind if he went over and counted all of his fingers and toes as well. Then he noticed that Remus’ bed was empty, and that the room was freezing. He decided he would go down to the Common Room and see if Remus was there, or maybe count the pictures, or the fingers in the pictures.

Sirius swung his feet down to the floor, wincing and hopping over the cold stone as he tugged his dressing gown on. He stopped on his way to the door and counted ten of James’ snoring breaths, and five of Peter’s.

**

He found Remus downstairs on the couch by the fire, brown-gold eyes heavy lidded, but not sleeping. Sirius didn’t see any books but he was sure there must be some around, Remus always had a book, in his pocket or bag or sometimes in his sleeve. Sometimes he had more than one. Sirius realized he must have made some kind of noise because Remus had turned to look at him, eyes opening slightly.

“What’re you doing up?” Sirius asked, so Remus wouldn’t ask him first. 

“Sitting up with the dead,” Remus murmured, and Sirius felt himself stagger back as he looked around, counting his heartbeats as they sped up. The room did not smell of camellias or lilies, it smelled of woodsmoke and snow-tang –

“Athanatus Murphy has left us,” Remus said, solemnly. “He now catches mice in the house of Merlin, which is his just reward.”

Sirius blinked (twice) and looked around the room again, this time noting one sleeping girl, in a chair next to Remus, and one small but bulging box, still bearing a fragment of Christmas paper.

“He passed sometime this afternoon, while we were outside, but Murphy didn’t notice until she went to give him his midnight snack,” Remus said, and they, who had never had any pets, shared a sympathetic shudder. “I couldn’t sleep, so I said I’d sit up with her. We island folk have to stick together.”

“We’re all island folk, Remus, we’re British,” Sirius said, squinting at one wall of the common room. The pictures were all of different sizes, and were hung unevenly, making them hard to count.

Remus made a noise that implied Sirius was missing his point, and went back to looking at the fire. Sirius had made it to the 57th painting (a tiny ship on a storm-tossed ocean, its little sails straining against the wind) when Remus spoke again.

“Sirius, what are you doing?” he asked, twisting around to get a better look.

“Counting the pictures,” Sirius said, and moved on to the 58th painting, a serene landscape with a red barn and two sheep, who _baa_ ’d at Sirius and went back to munching their grass. “Can’t sleep,” he added, and Remus grunted as he turned back to the fire. 

Sirius had made it to the 150th painting – a gingerbread house with something of a sinister air – before he noticed his legs felt very heavy and that he had gotten quite far from the warmth of the fireplace. He crossed the room and sat down on the couch next to Remus, who seemed to be dozing, and carefully did not look at the box.

“Want a story,” he said to Remus, prodding him back to wakefulness with one foot. 

“Mmph,” Remus said, and rubbed at his eyes. “What sort of story, Sirius?”

“A good one,” Sirius said, pulling a couch pillow down and curling up on it. “One with magic in it,” he added, and rubbed his nose.

“Shall I start with “Once upon a time”?” Remus said, and Sirius made a noise of agreement. Stories that started with “Once upon a time” were almost always good stories, and had magic in them. And dragons and princesses and sometimes enchanted cabbage.

“Well then. Once upon a time, on an island _very_ far away, there lived a fisherman, and his name was Angus. He had a small boat that he made himself, out of walrus-skin –“

“Walrus?” Sirius said, frowning.

“Enormous Muggle creature that swims around being fierce and roars like a lion. Has two gigantic tusks,” Remus said, and Sirius nodded, murmuring _walrus_ to himself.

“ – anyway, Angus, he had his small boat, made of walrus skin, which he named Rosaleen, after his mum, and he went fishing every day, sometimes, twice if the weather was fine. He caught all kinds of fish, in his boat, and he picked up anything else that looked like it might be interesting, like oddly shaped driftwood, or shells that had a funny colour. But one day as he was pushing his boat up the beach, heavy with his catch, he found – wake _up_ , Sirius – he found a naked girl lying on the rocks by the shore –“

“’m awake, Remus. Why was she naked? Wasn’t she cold?” Sirius yawned hugely and nuzzled the pillow, and started counting his teeth again.

“It was a very warm day. Anyway, she had long black hair and was very beautiful, and Angus did not want her to be angry that he had seen her without her clothes, so he looked around for them so he could hand them to her, and perhaps ask her to the ceilidh that night –“

“Ceilidh?” Sirius asked, frowning again, partially because he was sure he wasn’t meant to have 75 teeth.

“When the whole village gets together for dancing and storytelling,” Remus said. “But he did not find her clothes –“

“She’d been wandering about naked?” Sirius said, giving up on his teeth and pulling the sleeves of his dressing gown down over his fingers. “Is he going to tell her mum?”

“No, Sirius, he isn’t. Anyway, he found a sealskin, sleek and black and soft, and he was very pleased, and he picked it up, but he didn’t hand it to her. Instead he started to walk up the beach, but he had not gone far when she called out to him, and said, _Please, sir, give me back my skin, so that I may return to the sea_ –“

“Was she a magical creature?” Sirius said, pushing himself up slightly, and Remus nodded. “What was her name? Or did he have to give her one?”

“She told him her name, but he couldn’t pronounce it, so he called her Nairne, which was close enough -- and he said _If you come to the ceilidh tonight, I will give you back your skin_ so she came off the rock, and he gave her his sweater to wear so she would be covered as they went along the road, and they went back to his mum’s house, and had tea, and she borrowed a dress from his sister, and they went to the ceilidh, where they drank and danced and he played the fiddle until it was very late, and they walked back in the moonlight, and she said once more, _Please sir, may I have my skin back, so that I may return to the sea_ and he said _I will give you back your skin if you will stay the night with me_ , and though she wept and raged he would not relent, and so she stayed the night with him –“

“Couldn’t she, you know, put him in a body-bind and dangle him off the roof until he promised to hand over the skin?” Sirius asked, and Remus rubbed at his temples.

“She didn’t have a wand, Sirius, and anyway, she didn’t have that sort of magic. Where was I? Oh yes, she stayed that night with him, and every night that week, and still he did not return her skin, and she took to walking the narrow streets of the village, weeping and raging, and this distressed the other women, who dispatched one of their own as a messenger, a small woman, bent and white-haired, with gnarled hands, and she did say _He’s got you dead to rights, my girl, now stop your greetin’_ and Nairne cursed at the old woman, but she did stop her weeping and raging, and returned to live with Angus. In time she did grow to love him, and did bear him six children -- four sons, whom they called Calum, Diarmid, Moray and Sholto, and two daughters, whom they called Fiona and Morag, and they also did take in one orphan of a storm, who came to them already called Maeve –“

“Lots of children,” Sirius said, rubbing his nose again, and Remus nodded.

“Calum grew up and sailed away to the end of the world, Diarmid was taken from them by a fever, Moray was simple, and kept to the boat with his father, and Sholto was eaten by a dragon –“

“What sort of dragon? And how did he get eaten?” Sirius asked, pushing the pillow into Remus’ lap and stretching out over the couch. 

“Welsh Green, and he was trying to steal an egg from a nesting mother,” Remus said, and Sirius muttered something that might have been _daft bugger_. 

“Fiona grew up and married an island man like her father, Morag moved to London where she was run over by a bus, and Maeve stayed at home and helped her mother and father, for they had grown weak and ill with age, and also worked some time with the Keeper of The Stones –“

“Stones? What sort of stones? Magical stones?” Sirius said, yawning again. Remus noted Sirius was rubbing his feet together, which was something he did as he fell asleep, which Remus regarded as a good sign, a suggestion that whatever terror had propelled Sirius into the common room and caused him to start counting paintings had faded.

“Very old stones, with old magic in them, put there by people who had no writing to tell us the whole of their purpose. The stones sing for those who can hear them (and Maeve could hear them) and also draw Muggle tourists in by the ferryload, which was helpful to Maeve and her aging parents and also her sister, whose husband kept an inn for a living. Anyway, one day while she was listening to the stones sing, Maeve found a man taking notes on their song, with a quill, and she did ask him what he thought he was playing at, for she was very protective of her stones –“

“Good woman, Maeve, looking after the magical stones,” Sirius said, and Remus chuckled softly.

“-- and the young man was very startled, and almost dropped his quill, but he didn’t, and though his answer to her made no sense at all, he was better looking than any of the local lads (and also, she wasn’t related to him) so she asked him down the pub, and a year later, she did leave the island with the young man, and they did move to Essex, where she bore a child, who was always sickly, and she did long for her island and the sea, she did pine for the puffins and the roaring wind, for her father and mother, for her sister, and for her singing stones –“

“Maeve is your _Mum_?” Sirius said, jerking awake. “Your Gran is a magical creature?” Sirius added, wonder in his voice, and Remus shrugged. 

“—and so they did return to the island, where Maeve and the young man and her parents did raise the child together, and the stones sang to him, and he sang back to them –“

“You _did_? What were they singing about?” Sirius was almost fully awake now, and was working his way upright. Remus pinched his nose and sighed.

“Mostly things rocks care about – small animals widdling on them, especially interesting gusts of wind, the fact that they just don’t make winters like they used to – Dad was terribly disappointed --” Remus said, and Sirius snorted with laughter, and lay back down.

“-- and then one bitter cold day, Angus and Moray did go out in the boat, and a terrible wind came up, as if conjured, and the sea did take them both to her breast, and she did not release them, no matter how Nairne wept and raged, for she had now truly lost her skin, as well as her husband and her son, for Angus never did tell anyone where he’d stashed it, so many years ago, and she was trapped on the island –“

Sirius went very still, and Remus patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, it comes right in the end, because Maeve did look upon her mother’s grief, and she did consult with her living sister and brother, and they all did ask Maeve’s young man to summon the skin to him, and he did, and it turned out he had dropped it down an old well, and so was still supple and sleek, and Nairne was pleased. The next day she bid farewell to her children, and grandchild, and neighbors, and she did return to the sea. And those left behind, though heartsore, went up to Fiona’s husband’s inn and drank deeply of the _uisge beatha_ –“

“The ishky-what?” Sirius said, relaxing a little, and Remus saw his feet moving again.

“Whiskey, Sirius, the water of life, and they did dance and sing in Nairne’s honor, and swore to remember her, and her story, so long as they lived, and to re-tell it ever year on the anniversary of her return to the sea, so that she should not be forgotten.”

“When did she, er, return to the sea?” Sirius asked, pulling his knees up. He was starting to feel sleepy again, but he didn’t want to be disrespectful to Remus’ gran and falling asleep while Remus was remembering her did seem kind of rude

“Last year,” Remus said, softly, and Sirius squeezed his knee, unsure of what else to do. 

“Thank you for the story,” Sirius said, after a while, “it was quite a good one.” Then they sat in silence, until Remus asked if he would like another story, and Sirius nodded, and Remus told the one about the Princess and the Enchanted Cabbage, and Sirius fell asleep before he even got to the Giant Flobberworm.


	6. Collisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitter rivals and ice skates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 7 (Misty Trees)

“Gryffindor! Get your outdoor things and form up!” Gideon (or maybe Fabian) Prewitt roared, and there was a pounding of booted feet as the dorm rooms emptied into the Common Room.

“Two by two, now, by year, please, come on, firsties up here by us,” said the other Prewitt, and gradually a slightly wrinkled line formed, winding itself around tables and chairs. Remus stood next to Sirius, who was bouncing absentmindedly on the balls of his feet while James and Peter whispered to each other about something that required the words _horses_ and _bows and arrows._

“Right,” said the first Prewitt, winding his red and gold scarf around his neck. “We’ve arranged a special treat, like, so follow me and Fab to the Quidditch pitch, and no pissing about,” he added, and disappeared through the portrait hole. 

**

Outside it was cold and misty; the grass was silvered with frost, and the trees lining the path to Hogsmeade looked like black, gnarled fingers reaching out to grab them as they made the turn away from the castle. Remus ducked his head into his scarf and clenched his fingers around the knobs of his sticks reflexively, scanning the path for patches of ice. Ahead of them, Peter and James were talking to the Prewitts about the most recent Quidditch World Cup, in which Caerphilly Catapults had fought bravely against the Grodzidk Goblins. James had apparently had very good seats and had seen a Wronski Feint up close.

“Catapults are rubbish,” Sirius said, beside him, and Remus made a noncommittal noise. “Puddlemere United is a far better team.”

“Mmm-hmmm, “ Remus said, and Sirius had just plunged ahead into a discussion of the finer points of his thesis when the pitch hove into view. The viewing stands were still in place, bright red, yellow, green and blue against the wintery gray sky, but the normally grassy surface was hidden by a thick sheet of ice, and a series of low-backed benches had been erected around the perimeter. 

“Ice skating!” James shouted, and a ripple of excitement passed up the line. Remus hunched his shoulders and tried to think cheerful thoughts. He had heard about ice skating from his cousins, and he had even seen some of the village children gliding around the pond, but he had never done it himself. Ice was slippery, and that meant he was probably going to fall rather a lot, which was going to mean more bruises. And perhaps if he were very lucky, someone would skate over his hands by accident and cut his fingers off, as well.

“Never been ice skating outside before,” Sirius said, bringing him back to the present, and Remus was reminded that he was not the only member of the Brotherhood of Not Allowed Out of the House. Though he had the feeling that perhaps Sirius had better membership benefits.

“Do you, er, have a rink at home?” he asked, and Sirius shook his head.

“The Malfoys have one, at the Manor – Mum would take Reg and I over there, sometimes, when she called on Mrs. Malfoy. It’s sbout the size of this one – they change it to a swimming pool, in the summer --” Sirius said, and then they were at the edge of the rink, and the Prewitts were handing out skates, which were really just short, narrow metal blades attached to thin leather straps. Remus sat down on one of the benches and slipped his on over his boots, inhaling sharply when the straps tightened by themselves and the blades extended the length of his foot.

“Ace,” Sirius murmured, next to him, and stood up, rocking slightly from side to side. They made their way to the ice together, trailing behind Peter and James. Remus alternated between walking with great deliberation, his knees held as rigid as he could manage, and periods of half-controlled falling, as he tried to glide. Sirius moved around him in lazy circles, shouting encouragement and periodically darting in to catch him when he lost control of the falling, but eventually Remus gave up and sat down on a bench, waving a stick at Sirius, who shrugged at him and pushed off, away, knees bent and scarf streaming out behind him. 

Remus watched him trace lazy figure-eights on the ice, dodging around knots of girls, flashing a grin as they shrieked at him, clutching at their hats and each other, as if the wind of his passing was enough to knock them over. Remus stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned to watch James and Peter, who were at the center of the pitch, wands out, moving something small – a rock, maybe – around the ice with thin streams of red light, aiming at each others’ feet and at the sides of the rink. 

After a minute Remus staggered to his feet again, and resumed his lock-kneed gait around the edge of the rink. He fell a few times, once on his knees and twice on his arse, but he pushed himself up with his sticks and pressed on, until his stiff limbs found the rhythm of gliding, and he grinned as cold fingers of air pressed themselves against the edges of his sweaty scalp. He was making his way around the far edge when he saw Lucius Malfoy leading the Slytherins towards the pitch, his hair gleaming in the winter light, the thin column of black and green rippling out behind him wrapping through the trees like a ribbon.

Remus watched the Prewitts march up to Malfoy, their bodies rigid with irritation, their hands clenched around their wands. The other Gryffindors drifted into defensive clumps on the ice, the older children herding the other First Years towards the center and forming a ring around them that bristled with wands. Remus heard someone –several someones, actually, James and Peter as well as Sirius – calling to him, and inched over, slowly, until pair of the 3rd Years – a Prewitt cousin whose name might have been Alice, and a tall boy called Frank Longbottom – came and took him by the elbows, steadying him, until they could push him through the perimeter of the circle and deposit him next to Sirius.

“Bloody snakes,” James said, and Peter made a huffing noise. Sirius rose upon his toes, straining for a better view. They could hear snatches of the conversation – Remus heard something about _approved by the Headmaster_ and _supposed to have it all to ourselves, you wanker_ before one of the Prewitts turned made a waving motion at the circle, and Remus saw Frank Longbottom and the Prewitt cousin put their wands away, and the circle loosened into a line across the pitch.

James and Peter went back to their game, and Sirius went with them, skating in circles around them until James sent the rock skittering between his feet with a hoot of laughter, and Sirius sent it back to Peter with a wave of his wand and an enormous grin. Remus picked his way back to the benches, biting his lip against the burning in his legs, and watched as the Slytherins put on their skates and and drifted out onto the ice. Malfoy went first, the Slytherin First Years following him like malevolent ducklings, the older children following behind, making a line across the ice that ran parallel to the Gryffindors.

Remus rubbed his knees and watched the Slytherins skate; he recognized Severus Snape, who was staggering around the perimeter as badly as he had been, and one of Sirius’ cousins, Narcissa Black, who was gliding along next to Snape, occasionally doing a little jump or twirl, her hands tucked into a white fur muff, her blonde hair spilling down the back of her cloak. Crabbe and Goyle were surprisingly graceful on the ice, for all of their bulk, and they were able to keep up with Malfoy with ease as he made his way down the line.

“This all going to go pear-shaped in a minute,” someone said in his ear, and Remus turned around and saw the broad, black face of 2rd Year Kingsley Shacklebolt. “Bit awkward having a Black on our side,” he added, with a little sigh, and Remus stiffened. “Longbottom reckons he did it on purpose – had a word with the Hat to get in, have us let our guard down so he can find out our secrets, n’that. Can’t trust a Black as far as you can throw them, you know –“ Kingsley began, and Remus was drawing breath to disagree when there was a shout from the pitch, and Remus turned around to see Sirius and Snape sprawled on the ice, glaring at each other, Narcissa Black standing over them, her wand out and pointed at Sirius. The Prewitts and Malfoy glided over, their Prefects badges gleaming gold, and leaned over to tug their housemates to their feet. 

Malfoy leaned forward, hands on his knees, and Snape said something in his ear, and then Narcissa cut in, hands on her hips. The Prewitts turned to Sirius, who ducked his head and shrugged, gesturing towards James and Peter, who were still playing their game, at that moment sending the little rock skittering over the ice towards a clump of Gryffindor girls.

After a while Malfoy straightened up and said something Remus couldn’t hear to the Prewitts, and Remus saw Sirius look up, his face hard and angry in a way Remus has never seen before. The nearest Prewitts put a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, and he looked back down at the ice. Malfoy waved a hand at Snape and Narcissa, and they moved off, though Remus noticed Narcissa did not put her wand away. 

“Greasy little thing, isn’t he?” Kingsley said, and Remus grunted in agreement.

“I trust Sirius,” he said, after a while, watching Sirius make his way to the benches, his strides less sure than before; Remus noticed he seemed to be limping slightly.

“I’m going back out,” Kingsley said, “see you later, Lupin –“ and clattered past Remus onto the ice, making for James and Peter and their little rock.

Sirius’ face was still pinched and angry when he finally made his way to the bench, and he flung his skates off with muttered curses.

“Alright there, Sirius?” Remus asked, and Sirius shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest, his grey eyes dark and stormy. 

“Sent me off,” he muttered. “I didn’t _mean_ to run into the little git, and I _said_ I was sorry. Bloody Narcissa. Never did like her. Always running to her mum if I so much as looked at her funny.”

After that they sat in silence, until the Prewitts called everyone off the ice, and it was time to go back to the castle.


	7. Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rough Potions class and a high impact game of tag, in which Sirius comes out the worse for the wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 8 
> 
> A soft breeze with the slippery concrete black and full of muddy slush, contrasting with the hoarfrost, clean and hung on a tunnel of silent shivering trees (the ones you said you'd like to be), and the birds that screamed at the sun now buried deep down below the ground, beneath the snow, I press my shoulder to this wall between us.
> 
> \- The Weakerthans, "Without Mythologies"
> 
> Bless the BBC and h2g2 and their cotton socks for having a page all about [playground games.](http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A569982) I had planned to go into more detail, but it didn't work out.

It had not been a good day; there had been no sausage at breakfast, which made James cross, and because James was cross he was sharp with Peter, who sulked. Sirius had been alternating between sullen, snappish, whiney and clingy all morning (all of which provoked James further), which so irritated Remus that he was not sure if he wanted to slap him or send him to bed with a hot water bottle.

However, Remus calculated that the day had gone irrevocably bad thirty seconds after the ring of the second bell, when Slughorn had made a long, rambling speech about the air in the castle being very close, wrote “Air Freshening Potion” and a list of ingredients on the board. Remus heard James muttering under his breath about _poncy nonsense_ and Sirius said something about _We might get the stink of your feet out of the room, Potter_.

Then Slughorn announced they would be in different pairings than usual, motioned for Lily Evans to sit next to Narcissa Black, and informed the class that he was looking forward to “inhaling the results of the work of my two most precious blooms.” Slughorn had gone on to pair Peter with Arthur Bulstrode, James with William Nott, Sirius with John Parkinson and himself with Severus Snape, an arrangement calculated, Remus was sure, to ensure the most number of cauldron explosions and/or detentions per single class in the entire history of Hogwarts.

“Touch nothing,” Snape had said, when he sat down, and Remus had opened his Potions text to the appropriate page and folded his hands in his lap obediently, an arrangement that worked until Slughorn waddled by and took five points from Gryffindor for laziness. Remus had shut his book and given Snape an inquisitive look, wondering only how his doom was going to smell. Snape had growled softly and rolled two paper-wrapped packets across the desk.

“I suppose you can’t fail at slicing cinnamon or ginger root,” Snape muttered, as Remus pulled his knife out. “Mind you don’t take your own fingers off.”

And all had gone well, Remus thought, until his knife had wobbled on a ridge of ginger and slipped, and he had jammed the tip into the soft space at the center of his palm. He had been unable to stifle a squeak of pain, and Severus had clucked at him with irritation.

“Blood will ruin the scent, Lupin. Go and wash your knife throroughly,” he said, and Remus had stood up, chewing on the inside of his cheek to hold back a request for a bandage, and made his way to the sink at the back of the classroom. He passed James and Nott along the way, and felt a little spark of hope --James was chopping a bit of lemon rind with savage intensity; Nott was stirring the contents of their cauldron slowly, and humming contentedly to himself – but his return journey, by Peter and Bulstrode, killed that hope. Peter’s already watery eyes were streaming with tears as he chopped an onion, and Bulstrode was staring into space as the cauldron bubbled, the mixture inside having turned an unpleasant shade of yellow.

Remus took a deep, steadying breath, pressed the tip of his wand to his palm and murmured the incantation to close the wound, and went back to his chopping. After a minute Snape flicked his fingers at Remus’ wrist, and Remus set his knife down on the desk and waited.

“We’ll need nutmeg from the storage closet,” Snape said, and Remus was rising to go and get it when all of his darkest imaginings came to fruition at once -- Narcissa Black stood up with a shriek of rage, her hair bright orange from the tips to her shoulders, two cauldrons blew up (one of them was Peter and Bulstrode’s) and three others boiled over, sending rivulets of tea-rose, sandalwood and pepper scented muck streaming along the floor and over the toes of Remus’ boots. Remus started breathing through his mouth, though he could tell the wolf could taste the competing scents, and the wolf was screaming _run_ loud enough to knock his knees forward into the desk, which in turn jarred Snape’s hand, which was full of – oh _no_ , Remus thought – black myrrh. 

“Idiot!” Snape roared, and Remus made an apologetic face at him, as they both started coughing. Remus braced himself against the desk and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shove the wolf back down. He was pondering pretending to be ill to have an excuse for running out of the room when he heard Slughorn shout a spell to clear the air and opened his eyes. Narcissa Black was sobbing into her (still orange) hair, Lily Evans was stirring their cauldron with an expression that was both grim and triumphant, and Slughorn was looming over Sirius and Parkinson, his face like a thundercloud heavy with rain.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for insufferable carelessness, and, Mr. Black, I will see you for detention for a full week, starting tomorrow,” Slughorn said, and Remus heard James’ howl of outrage behind him. “As for the rest of you, decant a small amount into the vials at your stations, label them and bring them to me before you leave, and I’ll have twelve inches on the theory of complementary scents by Wednesday of next week. Class dismissed.”

Remus let Snape wave him away from the decanting (“You’ll just spill it, Lupin, and I don’t fancy smelling like this for the rest of the day”) and slipped out the door into the hallway, where he found Sirius leaning up against a wall being shouted at by James, and Peter looking on with an unpleasant gleam in his eyes.

“—not even a proper Gryffindor, you little sod, and you’ve lost us more points than anyone else,” James was saying, and Remus set his mouth and poked him in between the shoulders with the top of one of his sticks.

“We’ll be late for McGonagall,” Remus said, when James spun around. Sirius pushed himself off the wall, murmured _fuck off, Potter,_ and stalked down the hall. Remus noticed that something about his gait seemed – off, somehow, just for a minute.

** 

At the end of Transfiguration, when an additional ten points had been taken from Gryffindor and both Sirius and James had been given a weeks detention for, essentially, annoying each other to the point of red-faced screaming, Remus was relieved when McGonagall announced that the room smelled like a cross between a French bordello and a cesspit, and they needed an airing-out, then all but physically threw them outside into the snow, schoolbags and all. 

**

 _Cold; leaves; cold earth; sweet, rotten, dead; dog; sunshine; peppermint._ Remus shook his head clear of the conflicting scents ( _What animal’s piss smelled of sunshine and peppermint?_ the wolf asked, but didn’t wait for an answer.) He crouched down against his tree and listened; he could hear the other shouting nearby, Lancashire mixing with Belfast mixing with broad Cockney, _Got you!_ ran into _You’re it!_ collided with _That’s you done, mate!_ and then he pushed himself off the tree, back into the mist, and ran and ran and ran, until his heart pounded and his lungs felt as if they were on fire, but he was safe, because no-one could see him in the fog. He could stretch his legs until they burned, he could bury his face in the bark of a tree and inhale the world and no-one would ask _What are you playing at?_ or make any kind of baffled face face at him. No-one would ask him if he was feeling quite strong enough to play outside today, or make any kind of apologetic face and start re-configuring the game for the cripple. Remus also felt slightly guilty at the surge of joy he felt, running free; he appreciated people who included him, bent and broken as he appeared to be and sometimes was, as much as he wanted, sometimes, to slap the helping hands away.

He had lost James and Peter and Sirius when the Hufflepuffs had come streaming out of the castle, and herded everyone with badgerish efficiency towards the broad tree-lined ribbon of blacktop that led to Hogsmeade. The Ravenclaws had come behind them, flapping their robes and cawing, and Remus wondered if some fresh air might be good for them, if they had been cooped up in the library too long. Someone had started a game of Black Tom, and someone else had shouted “Who’s for a game of British Bulldog, then?” and he had taken that moment to duck into the trees.

“All right there, Lupin?” a female voice said from behind him, and he spun around. It was Lily Evans, her face flushed with cold, her green eyes burning bright in the gathering darkness

“Fine, thank you, Evans,” he said, and arranged his face in what he hoped was a pleasant expression.

“Lupin, if you see Black, later, will you tell him that I – appreciated his assistance, this morning, and I’m sorry he got so much detention?” she said, and gave him a smile. Remus blinked a couple of times.

“Assistance?” he repeated, feeling slightly stupid.

“Narcissa was carrying on about how even common weeds grow well if they’re planted in shit and, well, you saw what happened. Her hair is going to smell of oranges and oregano for at least a day or two,” and Remus felt his laughter bubbling up to join hers. “He is a proper Gryffindor, as well, he’s not to pay any mind to that prat James Potter,” she added, her chin coming up. 

“There’s the dinner bell – we’d better be going,” she said, and reached out for his arm, as if to help him across the space between them. Remus took his sticks out from under his arms and waved her away, smiling to soften the motion.

“It’s alright, you go on, I’ll catch you up,” he said, and jammed one into the ground for emphasis, when she chewed her lip at him. He watched her disappear into the gloom as he picked his way slowly over the churned up slush, cold and exertion finally exacting their toll of sore knees and halting steps. He was within sight of the castle when he felt his feet slip out from under him and came down hard, his elbow bouncing off something that felt like a rock, before he noticed the whisper of magic. He rubbed his elbow and rolled to his knees, brushing the snow and the leaves away, and that was when he saw Sirius, curled into a ball amid the snow and tree-litter. His face was hidden by his hair, but Remus could see his shoulders moving, shivering; he was still alive.

“ _Finite incantatum,_ ” Remus whispered, and nothing happened. He put his hand down and pushed against the spell, but it was like trying to move one of the castle walls; he tried again, with his shoulder, and then with one of his sticks, but the barrier would not be moved.

“Sirius,” he said, loudly, “Sirius, come out of there. We’ll be late for dinner.” Remus waited for a moment, and prodded the barrier again, and felt it dissolve under his hand.

“Don’t want any dinner,” Sirius said, his voice muffled.

“Rubbish,” Remus said, “you always want dinner. Sometimes you want two dinners. Now get up, before Evans sends the Prewitts out to carry me in to the Great Hall like a sack of potatoes.”

Sirius sighed, and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. Remus pushed himself to his feet and waited, watching Sirius struggle upwards, noting his smudged, dirty face and the purpling bruise on one cheekbone. Sirius was on his feet for only a moment before he fell down again with a half-suppressed shout of pain.

“What’ve you done?” Remus muttered, and Sirius sat up again, and made something that might have been a sniffling noise. 

“Here, I don’t need both of these,” Remus said, and handed him a stick. Sirius curled his fingers around the handle and heaved himself up again, and held still while Remus brushed the leaves and snow off of him.

“Better,” Remus said, and then they staggered towards the lights of the castle in silence.


	8. Up the Arithmancy Staircase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 9 
> 
> Inklings of the storm,  
> of the heavy trembling,  
> are surely what drive  
> us together.
> 
> Inklings of loneliness,  
> of a creeping frost,  
> an imminent fall,  
> a futile cry
> 
> \-- Tarjei Versaas, "Outside the Wind Whispers"

“—right, so Dad was down in Teignmouth, monitoring the harbor, n’that, when one night Mrs. Baker, his landlady, comes home and announces there’s a treat for tea, she was able to get some lobster on the cheap, and Dad happened to go into the kitchen for tea, and what does he see in the pot but a _mackled malaclaw_ , all buggy eyes and waving antennae, and of course he played it very cool, asked her where she’d bought it so he could bring one home to Mum –“ James said, down the table, amid a cluster of other First and Second years, dinner all forgotten. James had been telling stories all through the meal, moving pepper pots and plates and butter dishes to illustrate his canvas. All of the stories ended in some variation on “—and then Dad leaped out and fired a hex, and Poseidon Black knew his evil scheme was foiled! Dad brought him in, but he bought his way out of it, of course, Blacks always do --” 

Remus clenched his fork tightly between his fingers and continued to roll the peas out of the layers of shepherd’s pie. Next to him, Sirius was hunched over his plate, one hand on the table, near but not on his fork, the other one in his lap. He has arranged himself neatly in a posture of eating but he has not, so far as Remus could tell, had even so much as a bite of his dinner. Remus could almost hear him counting the seconds and minutes in his head.

“Pumpkin juice?” Remus said, pushing the pitcher towards him. _Please eat, Sirius,_ he thought.

“No, thank you,” Sirius said, softly. His tone was mild but his voice was starting to develop a wobble.

Remus stabbed a bit of mashed potato, and tried to focus; he was torn between stumping over to James and punching him in the nose (and Peter, too, anything to put a stop to his shrill cackling) and – well, he didn’t know what else. Punching James and Peter just seemed like a good place to start. The wolf growled at the back of his mind and Remus carefully unclenched the fist that had formed in his lap. _Teachers present_ , he said to the wolf, who growled again. Remus glanced at Dumbledore and thought _Alpha_ and the wolf retreated.

Remus was also prepared to admit that what he really wanted was his Mum, because this was the sort of occasion that Mums were good for – a Mum would make Sirius wash his face and eat something, and (if was Remus’ Mum, anyway) take him somewhere quiet and give him something soft to hold while she tended his ankle, which even Remus could see he couldn’t walk on. 

Then she would probably insist on a warm bath and some cocoa before bed. Remus was not so sure what Sirius’ own mum would make of the situation (other than that she would also be ready to hex James Potter into oblivion) but he had a feeling there probably wouldn’t be any cocoa.

The circle of children around James erupted into laughter, and Remus had to unclench his fist again. He could almost _feel_ James’ nose giving way with a satisfying _crack_. Peter would probably try and step in and stop the fight but Remus was sure a quick walking stick to the stomach would take care of Peter. Perhaps it would even make him vomit all over James. _Why does no-one stop him?_ he thought, glancing up the table, but where the upper years were making short work of their meal. If they weren’t all deaf they were doing their best impression of it – some not very well, going by the smiles on their faces. Remus could see some of them laughing and had to bit his tongue, hard, for a little bit of blood to placate the wolf. 

“Please may I be excused, Remus,” Sirius said, the wobble now more pronounced, and Remus glanced at his plate. It was still full.

“One more bite, Sirius,” he said, thinking, _Please, please, just eat a little._ There was a long silence, and then he saw Sirius roll some carrots out and spear a bit of crumbled meat and potato and bring it to his mouth, before returning to his previous posture.

“Alright,” Remus said, defeat settling like lead in his stomach, as he swung his legs around and took one walking stick in his hand. Sirius took the other one, and glanced up at him for permission. His grey eyes were glazed and almost all pupil, and Remus saw a second bruise coming up on his chin, under the dirt. Remus nodded at him and they stood up. They had only managed a few steps when Sirius got tangled up in something – his robes, his own feet, a stray schoolbag, someone else’s foot, Remus wasn’t sure – and staggered backwards. Remus dropped his stick and reached out to steady him and they both went down onto the cold stone floor. 

“Bloody hell,” Remus muttered, and was reaching up to take the hand of a nearby Hufflepuff when he heard a muffled swish of robes and the Prewetts appeared, one on either side of them. The one nearest him crouched down -- Remus thought it might be Gideon; he was working on a way to identify them by their freckle patterns – and turned him around to give him a long look. Remus wondered what he must look like, and hoped it wasn’t as bad as Sirius. 

“I’m fine,” Remus said, firmly, and the Prewett shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re a mess, mate,” he said. “Like you’ve been dragged through a hedge full of Knarls. Knock you over with a _lumos_.” 

“Hospital Wing, I think,” said the other Prewett, and Remus felt Sirius go rigid.

“Come on, Nuisance,” said the first Prewett, and Remus squeaked as he became airborne and was slowly rotated until he was aligned as if he were riding piggy-back.

“You too, Problem,” the other Prewett said, and Sirius floated up, though his Prewett carried him in the front.

“Mr. Prewett, what is it you think you’re doing?” said a familiar voice, and Remus’ Prewett turned around to face Professor McGonagall. She was holding her napkin in her lap and her face seemed even more pinched than usual. Behind her, Remus could see James was _smirking_ at them, and gave him a glare. 

“This two need the Hospital Wing. Could you let the Headmaster know we’ll be going there by way of the Arithmancy staircase?” the Prewett said, and Remus saw McGonagall’s eyes narrow slightly. _Arithmancy staircase?_ he thought, as McGonagall nodded, and returned to the Head Table.

“Right, that’s sorted – oi, our Alice, you and Little Red take their bags up the Tower,” Sirius’ Prewett said, and Remus saw the 3rd Year Prewett, the pretty brown haired girl, nod her head at Lily Evans and then lean over and gather up Remus’ walking sticks and hand them to Sirius’ Prewett.

“Off we go,” said Remus’ Prewett, “hang on back there, Nuisance, wouldn’t want to lose you on the way,” and Remus dropped his hands onto broad shoulders and clenched his knees around a narrow waist as they made their way out of the Great Hall. Sirius, he saw, was curled in on himself as much as he could be, though his Prewett was speaking to him softly.

**

“Bloody Hufflepuffs and their Muggle games,” Remus’ Prewett said, slightly later, as they turned down the Charms corridor, and Sirius’ Prewett grunted in agreement. Remus saw some portraits leaning forward and looking alarmed and tried to smile reasssuringly at them.

“All gentle and useless until you get them outside, and then they run you over like a – what did our Molly’s husband say the Muggles call it?” said Sirius’ Prewett.

“A lorry, Fabian,” said Remus’ Prewett, and Remus felt a brief spark of pleasure for having guessed his Prewett correctly.

“Arithmancy staircase, here we are,” Gideon murmured, and waited for the click of connection before stepping forward. Fabian came behind him, humming softly under his breath. Remus listened for a moment, but couldn’t place the tune. Then some of the portraits started to sing along and he realized it was the Puddlemere United fight song.

Gideon stopped suddenly about half-way up the stairs and leaned in towards a painting of a Quidditch match in full swing. It was a largish painting; Remus could see the players faces tensed with concentration, and the Snitch bounced around the frame in a streak of gold.

“Budge up, Gid, let Problem have a proper look,” Fabian said, and Gideon shuffled backwards. 

“Joscelind Wadcock, lad, is flying the bloody bristles off of the Catapults in this one,” Fabian added, in a tone that Remus thought was slightly louder than necessary. One of the figures paused and turned towards them, and Sirius uncurled enough to look at her. Her eyes widened, briefly, but then she did a couple of broom tricks and looked pleased when Sirius summoned a dutiful smile.

“Best leave her to it,” Gideon said, and they continued on up the stairs. Remus rested his head on the shoulder in front of him, frowning faintly. _Trying to cheer him up, is all,_ he decided, and turned his mind to finding ways to get Pomfrey to not keep him overnight. _We’ll see who’s a proper Gryffindor and who isn’t,_ he thought.

**

Sometime later Gideon deposited Remus on one of the hard Hospital Wing beds, and turned to help his twin with Sirius, who had clenched his fingers into fists around Fabian’s robes and was refusing to be budged. Madam Pomfrey bustled over, a vial of Pepper-Up at the ready, and Sirius gave a low scream that made Remus’ neck hair stand on end, and bucked away from Fabian. He landed on his bad ankle and fell down before either of the Prewetts could catch him.

“Mr. Black –“ Pomfrey began, leaning over, but he rolled away from her, wriggling between Remus’ ankles to get under the bed. Remus heard a few muffled whimpers and then there was silence. He swung one foot experimentally and was not surprised when his heel encountered something hard as a rock.

“He, er, really doesn’t like the hospital,” Remus said, to the three stunned faces in front of him. “He’s normally a bit less—mobile – by the time I can get him in here. I’ll try and fetch him out, will I?” _If I can, that is, if he’ll let me in again._

“That won’t be necessary, Remus,” Madame Pomfrey said, recovering first, and handed him the Pepper-Up vial. “I’ll tend to Mr. Black momentarily.” The Remus drank the potion, then sat quietly, letting the steam tickle his ears, while she moved her wand over his face, murmuring healing spells. 

“Where else does it hurt?” she asked, and Remus shook his head. 

“I’m fine, really,” he said, and she clucked at him, and he knew he was about to be dosed with a sleeping potion and sent to bed with a hot water bottle, and he was _not_ going to be allowed back to the Tower. He would have to punch James and Peter later. She handed him a pair of Hospital pyjamas packed him off to the bathroom for a quick wash, and he heard her talking to the Prewetts in low tones.

He came back to find Fabian crouched on the ground, poking Sirius’ barrier, and Gideon sitting next to him, humming softly.

“It’s all around the bed,” Fabian said, “not an inch of give. Can’t even shift the bed.”

Remus lay down on the floor next to Fabian, so that his was roughly nose to nose with Sirius, and peered under the bed. Their quarry was a small lump of misery in the dimness.

“Sirius,” Remus said, softly, and pressed his hand against the barrier. “Come on now, out of there. Pomfrey isn’t going to hurt you, really.” 

“We tried that,” Gideon said, mildly, and then Remus felt the barrier dissolve, but before he could say anything else, Sirius' fingers closed around his wrist and dragged him under the bed in one swift movement, and Remus felt the barrier slam down behind them.

“Oi, Sirius,” he said, as they shuffled around in the cramped space, but there was no response other than labored breathing. Remus heard the Prewetts banging against the barrier and prodded Sirius in the area of his shoulder.

“Come on, we have to go out now,” he said, but there was still no response. Remus sighed, and rolled over awkwardly to make a waving motion at the Prewetts. They poked the barrier some more and then their faces disappeared. Remus lay in silence, poking at the barrier periodically, drifting in and out of sleep. He knew sooner or later Sirius would calm down or wake up, or Dumbledore would come and sort it out.

**

Remus woke up sometime later and found he was in bed, under the covers, even. He pushed himself up and looked around for Sirius, listening for the familiar snuffly sleep-breathing. Most of the beds were empty, but the one nearest the door had sprouted curtains, and a dim yellow light was spilling out from under them. Remus pushed himself to his feet and waited to see if he would fall. His knees twinged but did not fail, and he moved, slowly, towards the light.

“Sirius,” he said, softly, outside the curtains, and waited. He was about to call out again, louder, when the curtains opened and a strange girl beckoned him in. There was no bed; she was sitting in a large armchair, Sirius curled in her lap, a blanket thrown over him. He was clean, wearing hospital pyjamas and appeared to be sleeping, a tiny green lion tucked in the bend of his elbow. Remus glanced at his ankle and saw it was tightly bandaged, and felt something in his stomach relax. 

“You’re awake,” she said, “good. I’m Andromeda Tonks, by the way, I’m his cousin. Left here last year. You must be Remus.” He nodded, feeling wary; Sirius’ family could be -- treacherous. She had Sirius’ coloring, but her eyes were more blue than grey, and her features were somewhat softer. 

“It’s alright, love, I’m one of the good guys,” she said, with a low chuckle, and Remus felt himself flush. “Told them all to take their Pureblood nonsense and stuff it, didn’t I? Went and married a ruddy great Muggle.” She smiled Sirius’ smile at him, and Remus rubbed his nose, feeling very awkward.

“And lost all of my manners when I did it, apparently,” Andromeda said, half to herself, and pushed her footstool at him.

“How –“ he began, and sat down. “I –“ he tried again, but there were too many questions. 

“Old family spell,” she said, “ we all learn it when we’re small. He must trust you a good deal, if he dragged you in there with him.” Remus blinked at her, and shrugged one shoulder. 

“The Prewetts said he’d – been having a bit of a rough time,” she continued, giving him a searching look. Remus stared at his knees, and she sighed. “Arseholes,” she muttered. “All blood and no sense.” 

“I’m going to thump James and Peter,” he said, “but – I – I don’t –“ he began, but there were still too many questions.

“Muggleborn or half-blood?” she said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

“Half-blood, reared in exile,” he muttered, and she arched one perfect eyebrow at him. He wondered if that were a Black family secret as well. “Orcadian Lupins, not Essex,” he added, and understanding dawned on her face.

“A Black in Gryffindor,” she said. “The beginning of the end, and they know it. Blacks have mixed with Muggles before – and even married them -- and paid the price, I assure you – but this – this is different. He’s the Heir to – everything. And he’s switched sides.”

“Not on purpose,” Remus said, automatically, and Andromeda cracked another smile.

“The Hat put a Potter, a Black, an Orcadian Lupin and a Pettigrew in Gryffindor,” she said. “Do you know what that means?”

“It wants to see how long we’ll last before throwing each other off the Tower?” Remus hazarded, and she laughed. Sirius stirred in his sleep, and Andromeda patted him absentmindedly.

“The Potters are more Gryffindor than Godric himself,” she said, and Remus snorted. “But that isn’t going to be enough. Gryffindor needed a Black – stubborn, old, devious, talented blood with deep connections on the other side. And you, Remus Lupin of the Orcadian Lupins –“ here she paused, and Remus thought for one horrible moment she was going to say _are a werewolf_ “--grew up on an island full of wild magic. Gryffindor needed you too. And then there is Peter Pettigrew, whom I know nothing about, ” she finished, and Remus felt relief flood through him. 

“Half-blood. Dad’s a Hufflepuff, Mum’s a Muggle, follows James around like a shadow,” Remus said, with a shrug, and Andromeda made a contemplative noise. Sirius shifted again, and Andromeda kissed the top of his head.

“The Hat does work in mysterious ways,” she said after a while, and Remus felt himself smile. She reached an arm out and made a come here motion, and he moved towards her, leaning down to press his face against her, inhaling her faintly ashy smell ( _Came by Floo_ , he thought), one hand on Sirius’ knee for balance. She squeezed him briefly, rubbing her hand between his shoulderblades.

“You’re a good friend to him, Remus, you are,” she said, and Remus felt himself flush again. “Now get back to bed before Pomfrey gets in here and skins me alive,” she added, and he eased away, back to his own bed, and to sleep.


	9. The Easy Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 10 -- soup
> 
> Partan bree is a Scottish soup made with crab meat, anchovies and a fair amount of heavy cream -- it struck me as the sort of thing Sirius would like.

“—pass the sugar, Remus?” James said, and Remus handed him the bowl with a smile, and watched as he shook three heaping teaspoonfulls over his porridge, before going back to his eggs. 

“—anyway, Peter, as I was saying, with any luck we’ll have the dorm to ourselves again tonight, and –“ James paused to take bite of porridge, and Remus turned a page of his book. There was a pause, and then Remus heard Peter make a gagging noise.

“Salty,” James said, spitting again. “Bloody elves. Pass the eggs over here, Peter.”

There was another silence, interrupted by the tink and bonk of serving spoons on plates. Remus ate another bit of bacon, sucking on the crunchy bits.

“—we can – pass the salt, Remus?” James said, and Remus handed him a salt-shaker without looking up. There was a pause, and then a clunk as James set the shaker down.

“ – plant the, you know –“ James began, and Remus picked up another piece of bacon. There was a longer silence, and then Peter made a louder gagging noise.

“Honestly, Potter, were you raised by wolves?” Kingsley Shacklebolt said, his voice tinged with disgust. “Use a napkin if you don’t like it.”

There was a muted scrabbling as James fumbled for his goblet, and then Peter let out a shriek. Remus speared himself a sausage from the communal plate and began cutting it up.

“ _Potter!_ ” said one of the Prewetts (probably Fabian). 

“Prunes,” James said, with a little gasp.

And then the bell rang, and the Prewetts were herding them to class. 

**

_King Ethelbert of Kent (560-616)_  
\- Adelbert the Slightly Dizzy  
\- remove a kelpie that was occupying the Humber (Abus)  
\- first use of broad-spectrum Obliviate on Muggles  
\- entrails floated as far down as current location of Hull 

Remus dipped his quill in his inkpot and continued writing as Binns started talking about Cuthelred the Unsteady, former partner of Adelbert the Slightly Dizzy, who was best known for accidentally introducing Dugbogs to England in 580 AD.

“Pink!” Peter whispered, behind him, and giggled. 

“ _Sparkley?_ ” one of the Hufflepuffs said, and Remus heard a faint crackling that suggested a crumpled parchment.

“Do you smell strawberries?” Lily Evans said, in Remus’ ear.

“My wee sister has ink just like that,” said a different Hufflepuff.

“Fuck off out of it, Jones,” James hissed, just as Binns paused to write dates on the board with the tip of his wand.

“What was that, Mr. Potter?” Binns said, rotating slowly, the dates visible through his head.

“Er, nothing, sir,” James muttered, and Binns returned to the lecture. 

Remus had written down _Augustus of Hull (1000-1085)_ and _failed in attempt to wade across Humber (Abus)_ when he heard Peter giggle again.

“Pink _and_ purple _and_ sparkley,” Jones said, and James growled.

“Strawberries _and_ violets,” Lily muttered.

“I say, Potter, that’s an – unusual – way to take notes,“ a different Hufflepuff said, and started to laugh. “Hearts over all of your i’s, really –“ and there was a scrabbling and tearing, and a low wave of laughter moved down the row.

**

“Mr. Black is asleep right now,” Madame Pomfrey said, rubbing her hands on her apron. Remus noted the lines of tension around her mouth and wondered if Sirius had locked himself under another bed. He was well aware that Pomfrey used the “asleep” excuse to cover everything from “busy turning into a werewolf” to “covered in leaking boils” or even “hallucinating with pain and crying like a little girl.”

“Can we just have five minutes, please, ma’am?” Lily said, “we brought him up some treacle tart from lunch, and his assignments from the morning –“

“We won’t wake him, ma’am, just leave them for him,” Remus said. “We promise.”

“Very well,” the nurse sighed, and gestured towards the back of the room. “Five minutes, and no more.”

Remus went first, so he could turn Lily back if Sirius _was_ doing something other than sleeping, but in this case, Pomfrey was not hiding anything – they found him curled up on the bed, half out of his covers, his injured ankle propped up on pillows. The green lion was still in the crook of his arm; Remus tugged the edge of the blanket up before Lily could get a good look.

Lily crouched down and pulled some rolls of parchment, books and a Quidditch magazine (borrowed off one of one of the Prewetts) out of her bag, and set them on the low shelf behind the bed, while Remus cleared a space between the potions vials on nearby table for the plate of treacle tart. Lily reached out and patted Sirius’ hand, and murmured something Remus couldn’t hear.

“Be back later, mate,” Remus said, softly, “after dinner.” But Sirius did not stir.

“Mr. Lupin – Miss Evans – your time is up,“ Madame Pomfrey said, and shoo’ed them out the door.

**

“—four under his bed, like, and three in the bathroom cabinet –“ James whispered, but Remus could still hear him. Peter made a noise of agreement and slurped down the last of his soup.

“Won’t know what hit him,” James said, standing up, as Remus leaned over to pick up his school bag, the ends of his sticks protruding into the space between the tables.

“Come on, Pettigrew,” James said, “wouldn’t want to be late for detention. Of course the wanker got out of it today, probably moaning all over Pomfrey like a girl – OW, bloody hell, Lupin, watch where you put those things –“ he continued, from the floor. Peter moved forward, as if to help him up, but Remus was faster, shifting forward and getting between them.

“Terribly sorry, James,” Remus said, and curled his hands around the handles. “I’ll be more careful in future,” he added, and moved forward, pressing the ends into the soft muscles of James shoulders. James made a muffled squeak and Peter gave a little shove from behind, and Remus fell heavily on to James. He was aware they were developing an audience, and he had to move quickly. _Bite_ , thought the wolf. _Scratch. Blood._

“How clumsy of me,” Remus murmured, as James growled at him and started wriggling. Remus put a hand on James’ chest and slid it forward slowly, until the curve of thumb and forefinger rested exerted gentle pressure on James’ windpipe, and leaned forward slightly, letting a little bit of the wolf bleed into his eyes.

“Arrgh-garg,” said James, his eyes widening, and Remus gave him a careful smile.

“Oi, Nuisance,” said a Prewett, from somewhere overhead, and Remus sat back, the wolf growling in his ear. _Bite. Scratch._ The Prewett rocked back on his heels and Remus blinked slowly, shoving the wolf back down.

“Get out of the road, then,” the Prewett said, and Remus stood up, and stepped over James, who bounced up like an angry toad.

“What the hell was _that_ , Lupin?” he said, and spun Remus around, his glasses slightly askew on his red face, before he took them off, handed them to Peter and gave Remus a shove.

“ _That_ was the easy way, Potter,” Remus replied, and the wolf surged up, pushing Remus forward, into James and back to the floor, until the Prewett yanked them apart.

**

“What happened to _you_ , mate?” Sirius said, later, around a chocolate frog, after McGonagall had finished her lecture and Remus had been allowed to slip away to the hospital wing. He had found Sirius awake and reading the Quidditch magazine, a mug of what smelled like partan bree in his hand. Sirius was still pale, but he seemed calmer, though Remus had a feeling that it may have been potion-induced.

“Potter and I had a disagreement,” Remus said, and Sirius gave him a look that implied _Yes, alright, and?_

“Did I tell you what happened to him in History of Magic this morning? It was dead funny --” Remus began, and Sirius shook his his head, his eyebrows crinkling together, though he was laughing – real, delighted laughter -- by the time Remus got to the part where the ink turned pink _and_ purple.


	10. Family Matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 11: One kind word can warm three winter months. -Japanese Proverb and 12: black dog and doggy footprints in the snow

Remus had stayed with Sirius for a while, doing homework and Slughorn impressions, until the low tide of a pain potion washed over Sirius, his eyes closing as Remus spoke, nodding along to a story until his head fell on to the pillow. Remus tucked the green lion into the crook of his elbow and waved to Pomfrey as he left.

Back in Gryffindor Tower, James and Peter greeted him with spiky silence and wary glances from behind their Astronomy books. He could feel the Prewetts watching as he settled himself in a chair by the fire and began to read his Charms book. He was almost asleep himself when Lily Evans poked him in the shoulder.

“How is he?” she whispered, chewing on the end of one red plait.

“Better,” Remus said. “He said Pomfrey was going to let him out tomorrow.”

“What did Potter say to you earlier?” she asked, and Remus shrugged.

“Same as usual, you know,” he muttered, and Lily wrinkled her freckled nose.

“The Prewetts gave us all a lecture earlier, while you were away,” she said, leaning against the chair.“Reminded us that our Houses are our family while we’re here and just like in real life we don’t get to choose our families, so we have to at least try and be kind to each other, because in the end family is what will see you through.” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Remus said, shifting over in the chair, and Lily settled herself on the arm.

“Then Fabian told a dead funny story about their sister Molly who got really angry when they were born because she didn’t _want_ any brothers, and she asked their mum to give them back and get more girls instead, but their mum said no, and Molly did all sorts of horrible things – she tried to throw Fabian out with the rubbish! – but she got past it and now they’re really good mates. He also said Molly holds a grudge better than anyone else he knows, so if she can get past being angry, we can bloody well do it, too,” she added.

Remus leaned his head back on the chair and looked at the fire for a while. Lily eased off the arm of the chair and tipped herself into the seat with him, shoving him over with her knees.

“Do you have any brothers, Lily?” Remus asked, turning to look at her.

“No, only a sister. Her name is Petunia, and –“ she paused, clearly thinking. “Well, she really _isn’t_ very nice. And I have tried to be kind to her. She got really angry when I got my Hogwarts letter and screamed at Mum until she got to sent to her room without any tea. What about you?”

“No,” Remus said, softly. “There’s only me. My Aunt Fiona lives nearby but her children are all older than I am – gone off the island. I only see them at the holidays now.”

“Oh,” Lily said, biting her lip. “Do you like them?”

“They’re alright, I reckon. Dougal taught me how to get my ship models into bottles and Celia used to play school with me when I was small. She even let me play the teacher sometimes,” Remus said, grinning at the memory of plump, rosy cheeked Celia scratching sums on a tiny blackboard, her dark hair tied up in a messy bun, while he dutifully took notes. Lily giggled into his shoulder.

“What do you do when you and Petunia have had a row?” he asked, after a while, and Lily made a contemplative noise.

“Depends,” she said, “ on what we had the row about. The time I made her bald because she wouldn’t stop pulling my hair I had to say sorry _and_ help her pick a wig out. The time she startled me by popping a balloon in my ear while I was washing the dishes and I broke all the crockery in the house she had to say sorry _and_ help me glue it all back together.” 

“Hmmmm,” Remus said, and Lily poked him in the stomach.

“Are you going to say sorry to Potter?” she said, her tone verging towards severe. “You shouldn’t, you know, it’s all his fault. He should have to say sorry to you and Sirius.”

“Maybe we’ll say it together,” Remus said, and Lily snorted. “It was mean to trip him with my sticks,” he added, and she sighed, but didn’t disagree with him.

“Bedtime for firsties!” a Prewett announced, to a general muttering and muffled complaint. Lily groaned, and eased her way out of the chair.

“See you tomorrow, Remus,” she said, and he nodded at her, following James and Peter’s stiff backs up the steps to his room.

Late that night, he stared up at the ceiling, replaying the events of the last few days. _You’re a good friend to him, Remus, you are,_ Sirius’ cousin had said. _Gryffindor needed you too._ He had friends – well, a friend, but that was more than he had ever had before, and one did have to start somewhere – and he was _needed._ The thought made him feel warm inside, warm enough to melt a blizzard’s worth of snow. Remus rolled over, deeper into his covers. _I’ll say sorry to James tomorrow,_ he thought, as he fell asleep.

**

“Andromeda?” Ted called out, as he pushed open the door of the flat. He could smell something cooking – something tomato-y and delicious. “Hello, Midnight,” he said to the photograph of the black dog playing in the snow that was hung by the door, as it ran out of the frame and back in again, leaving a trail of tiny footprints. Andromeda had refused to get an actual dog until they had a proper house, no matter how he pleaded the merits of canine greetings after long days at work. Ted dropped his coat on the end of the bannister and peeled his galoshes off. “Love?” he called again, and there was an answering shout from the kitchen.

He dropped his scarf and gloves on top of the galoshes and made his way across their tiny flat, past his favorite Puddlemere United painting, to the kitchen, where he found Andromeda chopping a clove of garlic at the counter while the sauce stirred itself on the hob behind her. The spaghetti was steaming quietly in a bowl on the counter.

“Jocelind been by again?” he asked, leaning in for a kiss, and she shook her head as she brushed her lips against his cheek.

“Hell of day, though” she said, turning back to her cutting, rubbing at her eyes with one wrist. “Left Hogwarts yesterday and spent the rest of the time flying all over the bloody West Country. I had to sleep in a barn last night. Bloody horses are bloody loud. What about you?”

“Oh, you know I live a glamorous life, running around fetching coffee at the arse-crack of dawn for terribly important people who are very, very grumpy. But the news must be read, so the scones and cream must be retrieved, and sharpish,” Ted said, planting his face in her hair. She smelled like tomatoes and wet horses. “How is the wee bugger?”

“Sore,” she said, “and in a right state. He’d locked himself under a bed by the time I got there – with one of his wee friends, no less. Poor Pomfrey, she’s never had a student that terrified of her before. Dumbledore and I had to hold him down so she could sort his ankle out, poor love. Bloody Aunt Leonia and her dragging them off to St. Mungos for every little thing – Puppy spent more time in hospital before he was three than Bella, Cissa and I combined.” Ted nibbled her neck, and she leaned back against him, sighing softly.

“He has a friend?” Ted murmured, bringing his hands up to rub the knots out of her shoulders.

“Remus Lupin of the Orcadian Lupins,” she said, “shares a dorm with him. Peaky little thing. Pomfrey said he isn’t well – polio vaccine didn’t take, or something. Thought he was going to fetch his wand and hex me until I told him I was one of the good guys,” she said, chuckling. The cooker timer went off with a beep and Andromda pulled away to add the garlic to the sauce. Ted sat down at their rickety table, already set for two, with a little sigh and stretched his toes. 

“Fabian said hello, by the way, and Gideon asked if you fancied a flutter against the Wasps next month,” she said, and Ted nodded, his grin broadening. “And when I stopped by the Slytherin dorms so Cissa could scream at me, I told Lucius to go fuck himself _just_ for you,” she added.

“Why, that’s lovely, dear, thank you,” Ted said, tilting his head. “How are the vipers, anyway?”

“Just as we left them, though now they have a budding Potions Master among them,” Andromeda said, moving the bowl of spaghetti to the table and ladling some sauce over it. “Your dinner, sir,” she said, as he piled some onto his plate.

“Mmm-hmm,” Ted said, twirling noodles around his fork and stuffing it in his mouth.


	11. Flame of Inquiry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: 13: It snowed and snowed, the whole world over, Snow swept the world from end to end. A candle burned on the table; A candle burned. ~ Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago

“This is Ashomphus Jones of the Wizards Wireless Network, reporting live from the Isle of Wight, where snow has been falling since before dawn – we’ve got almost a foot on the ground already – anyone having business on the island today is encouraged to use extreme caution when flying as visibility is almost nil –“

James wiggled the dial past some static and muted singing, his lips pursed. He moved the wireless to the right, so it faced more towards the window, and the reception improved slightly.

“—I say, well done, O’Shaughnessey, that was an excellent save – can hardly see the Quaffle for the snow and still manages to beat it back. Portree has been lucky, very lucky indeed here on the Isle of Skye today. And there’s McCormack, flying high – oh dear, she seems to be in a bit of trouble, too much snow on the bristles, perhaps –“

Peter snorted, and James wiggled the dial again, grimacing when the room was filled with static.

“Bloody snowstorm,” he muttered. Peter grunted and craned his head to look out the window. The narrow arched windows were charmed to be clear; he could see the snow swirling around the parapets on its way down to making a think blanket of white on the grounds below.

“Blowing like buggery out there,” Peter said after a while, sliding off James’ bed. “Can’t see anything for the snow.”

“—I’m Nigel Sharkshank, and this is the news from London. Joey and Katrina Macalester, both age 7, of Kentish Town, are believed lost in snow-drifts in Diagon Alley. Joey has brown hair and hazel eyes and was last seen in padded yellow winter robes near Quality Quidditch Supplies; Katrina has brown hair and blue eyes and was last seen in padded orange winter robes outside Flourish & Botts. If you find these children please bring them inside, give them a cup of hot cocoa and alert the Diagon Alley office of the Magical Law Enforcement –“

“Boring,” Peter said, with a sigh, and James attacked the dial for a third time.

“ _Oh, come and stir my cauldron, And if you do it right, I'll boil you up some hot strong love, To keep you warm tonight_ – And there’s a tune for all of you lovebirds grounded by the snow, it’s an oldie but a goodie, _A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love_ , by everyone’s favorite chanteuse, Celestina Warbeck –“

“Rubbish,” James muttered, wiggling the dial again, and Peter made a noise of agreement.

The door opened with a soft click and the two boys looked up briefly before returning to the wireless. James had found another Quidditch game – he tuned in to hear that the Arrows had cast a Snow-Repellent Charm on the entire team and were making short work of the Cannons – when he heard someone say his name. He glanced up at Peter, still sitting by the window, who shrugged at him with one shoulder, his narrow face pinched into an irritated expression. 

James followed the line of his gaze and saw Lupin was leaning against the edge of Peter’s bed, pale and peaky as ever, his robes faded from over-washing and slightly too long at the same time. He had both of his sticks in his hands, the carved wolf’s snouts obscured by his fingers. Black was behind him, his wand clutched in one hand, his gray eyes on James’ face, his expression unreadable. James felt a surge of irritation wash through him at having his afternoon’s recreation interrupted by his least-liked dorm mates.

“What do you wankers want?” he snapped, and felt a little jolt of pleasure at the irritation that ghosted over Lupin’s face. “Pomfrey got sick of your whinging, did she? Sent you back here to annoy us instead?”

“It was wrong of me to trip you with my sticks,” Lupin said, his voice hoarse but steady, “I’m sorry I did it.” 

“What?” James said, startled. Peter got up from the windowsill and crossed to the bed, picked up the wireless, and gave it a bit of a shake, but that did not improve the reception.

“I said, I’m sorry I tripped you with my sticks,” Lupin muttered, his shoulders going rigid. Black’s eyes narrowed and James saw him moving forward, getting ready to push Lupin out of the way. James dropped his hand onto his wand automatically, and remembered Gideon Prewett hissing _Sort it out, you little sod,_ in his ear the previous day. 

“All right,” James said, after a minute, and Peter’s head snapped up in surprise. James paused, looking down at his coverlet, then slid off his bed and popped his trunk open. The house-elves had lined the bottom of every compartment of his trunk with chocolate before they packed it, and he still had a good deal of it left.

“Chocolate frog?” he said, after a while, and turned around to offer it to Lupin. Beside him, Peter made a huffing noise, which James answered with a glare, before reaching back into the trunk and fishing out three more frogs, one of which he handed to Lupin (who passed it back to Black) and one of which he gave to Peter.

“Oh, Cliodna,” Lupin murmured. “Thank you, James, I didn’t have her yet.” 

“Mine’s Agrippa,” Black said, and bit the head off of his frog.

“Merlin again,” Peter said, wrinkling his nose, and ate his frog whole.

“What programme are you looking for, then?” Lupin asked, gesturing towards the wireless.

“Anything that isn’t Celestina bloody Warbeck,” Peter said, and James relaxed into the general laughter.

**

“Give me the bloody candle, Black,” James snapped, looking up from the cup he was supposed to be polishing and was actually trying to read. Filch had led them to the Trophy Room an hour before, Mrs. Norris winding her way between his ankles, her tail high in the air, handed them two rags, two pots of silver polish, and a box of candles and left, humming softly under his breath. Mrs. Norris had stayed behind, and was now curled up in the center of the table, eyes closed, her ears tilted towards them.

James was painfully aware that the Catapults were playing the Quafflepunchers and he was _missing_ it. He wondered absently if Peter was listening for him; he had discovered early in the year that Peter was almost useless at magic but excelled at remembering things he had heard and repeating them back for anyone who would listen. James had enjoyed several key matches in this fashion when detention had prevented him from listening first-hand.

But meanwhile, he was stuck here in a stuffy little room with Sirius bloody Black, Filch’s damned cat and what had to be a thousand years worth of unpolished trophies. Black, who had changed into what appeared to be black velvet robes after dinner, was slouched cross-legged in a wooden chair ten feet away, working his way through a nest of battered Special Services to the School awards. He had smudges of silver polish on his face but otherwise appeared ready to be presented to the Minister of Magic at a moment’s notice. It made James’ fingers itch with rage. He wishd he hadn’t given the great berk a chocolate frog earlier.

“Get your own, Filch left us a shedload of them,” Black muttered, curling one hand around the taper jammed into a wax-encrusted holder that was next to him on the table, his gaze not wavering from the trophy in his lap. The rag he had been using was perched on his knee, apparently forgotten.

“Git,” James snapped, and snarled when Black rolled his eyes at him.

“Potter,” Black said, straightening in his chair, one hand dropping towards his wand-pocket, the other moving to pushed the taper away. He turned to James with an irritated expression.

“Give me the bloody candle,” James said again, moving around the table and lunging forward, but Black was too fast, and had jerked both candle and holder away before he could reach them, and held them above his head. Mrs. Norris opened her eyes and yawned hugely. 

“My candle,” he said, firmly, as James advanced. The trophy in his lap glinted and shimmered, and James could just about make out the names engraved on it; one of them was Poseidon Black, and the other one might have been Asmodeus Malfoy.

“Mooning over your filthy relatives?” James said, momentarily distracted, and was pleased when Black tensed, the candle fluttering slightly. “Probably cheated to get that trophy, too, knowing Slytherins,” he added, and was rewarded with a low growl. He thought for a moment Black was going to chuck the candle at him, and closed his fingers around his wand while preparing to duck. Mrs. Norris got up and padded down the table, and made a soft inquiring noise. James watched Black take a deep breath. Mrs. Norris turned and went back to her perch.

“Fuck off, Potter,” Black said, lowering the candle and settling it back on the table. “They earned this one fair and square. Some idiot turned an Ashwinder loose in the Slytherin Common Room and they turfed it out and froze the nest before the whole castle burned down.”

“Was probably them that turned it loose as well,” James muttered, and was rewarded with a furious glare.

“I heard it was a _Gryffindor_ prank,” Black snapped, and James leaned forward and grabbed the candle and walked back to his end of the table. He heard Black muttering curses at his back and smirked.

“Potter,” Black said, after a while, and James glanced up. His cup hadn’t said much of anything interesting in the end, and he was bored again. “What would you have done if you’d been Sorted into Slytherin?”

“Wouldn’t’ve been,” James said. “Potters have been Gryffindors for centuries. Not bloody possible, me being stuck in with the bloody snakes.”

“Right,” Black said, rubbing his eyes, “but still, if you had, and there was no being re-Sorted, or anything –“

“Dunno,” James said, picking up another cup and attacking it with his polishing rag. “Thrown myself in the Lake, maybe.”

“Doesn’t work, the Giant Squid will fish you out,” Black said, softly, and James realized he was _grinning_ , and that he looked slightly less like a miniature version of a Muggle storybook Dark wizard when he did so. 

“Made a run for the Forbidden Forest, then,” James muttered, and yawned. Surely it was time for Filch to be back already. 

“Giant spiders and werewolves in there,” Black said, wrinkling his nose, and James snorted.

“That’s just nonsense they tell us to keep us out – nothing in there but a herd of centaurs, and they won’t hurt us -- Dad told me when he dropped me at the train,” James said, and shrugged. James paused for a moment, chewing on his lip, before glancing up at Black again. 

“Black,” he said, leaning forward. “Lupin’s your mate, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Black said, tilting his head to one side.

“He ever seem a bit – funny – to you?” James asked, and saw Black’s features tighten.

“Funny how?” Black said, but then Mrs. Norris stood up and stretched, and Filch pushed the door open, and James’ question got lost on the way back to the Tower.


	12. Announcements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: 14 - 18
> 
> 14: "When you have once seen the glow of happiness on the face of a beloved person, you know that a man can have no vocation but to awaken that light on the faces surrounding him. In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer." -Albert Camus
> 
> 15: frost on the windowpanes.
> 
> 16: old-fashioned radiator in a yellow room
> 
> 17: snowed in
> 
> 18: picture of trees against a white background

It was the wind whipping around the Tower, whistling through the cracks in the ancient stones and rattling the windows, which woke Sirius early the next morning. He counted his toes absentmindly (there were still ten) and glanced over at Remus’ bed. Remus appeared to be asleep, his head stuck beneath his pillow. Sirius pushed himself out of bed, wrapped his coverlet around him against the chill, and crossed to the window. 

Outside was a vast field of unbroken whiteness, slowly turning golden at the edges as the sun rose through the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. He wondered briefly what the centaurs did when it snowed (perhaps they had a cave to go into?), before leaning his head against the cold window and replaying the conversation with Potter from the night before. _Lupin’s your mate, yeah? Yeah. Does he ever seem a bit – funny – to you?_

They had come back from detention to find Remus and Peter in the middle of a game of Exploding Snap, and by the time Sirius had changed into his nightshirt and brushed his teeth, Remus was a bit smoky about the eyebrows and Peter had started in on his best impression of a wireless.

“—and it’s the Quafflepuncher Keeper with the save, _whsszht, wheet, whzzt_ –“ Peter had said, perched on James’ bed, eyes closed and head tilted like an antennae, and Sirius had decided that if there was anyone who was a bit funny in the dormitory, it probably wasn’t Remus. But something about James’ expression nagged at him, demanding further investigation. 

He turned his head slightly to take a better look at Remus, who had shifted in his sleep and was now splayed out across the bed. He looked much the same as he did awake – about the same size as the rest of them, if a little thinner, and wearing erumpent-patterened flannel pyjamas, slightly faded but otherwise the twin of a pair Peter had in the bottom of his trunk. (Sirius secretly wanted a pair with Snitches on them, like James had, but his mum had flatly refused to buy anything so common.) Remus’ brown hair was sticking out at odd angles and there were red sheet-crease marks on his face, the same as James had every morning. 

Sirius knew that Remus was ill, in a general sort of way, and also that he didn’t like to discuss it. He had explained, once, at the beginning of the year, about Muggle diseases that didn’t entirely go away and endless vile potions that didn’t work, or that made things worse. He had mentioned that he had been to every Healer and hedge-witch in Britain and a few other places besides, and that there wasn’t anything anyone could do. He had tugged up his robes to show them his skinny, scarred, legs that looked fine but didn’t always work so well. He showed them his walking sticks and let them hold them, the bone-golden scrimshaw wolves heads heavy in their hands. And he had told them all, softly but firmly, that he wasn’t contagious and they weren’t to worry. 

Sirius also knew that Remus wasn’t very ill every day, or at least that he wasn’t always ill in quite the same way. There were days when he was cranky, fretful and thin-skinned – when even the gentlest of teasing made him retreat into his own bed, into a book or his own thoughts, curled up like a snail. 

Sirius tried to speak more softly on those days, and avoided James as best he could, because every time he was around James there was a row, and on those sorts of days, rows made Remus’ face go all pinched and worried and sad. Sometimes Sirius went and sat with Remus, like he had used to sit with Reg when he was ill. He would bring his toy erumpents and horses and march them over the ridges of Remus’ ribs, humming little tunes and replaying famous battles with noises and everything, until Remus started laughing. 

There were also days when Remus seemed to be half-asleep all the time, when his eyelids were droopy and Sirius had to kick him in the ankle to keep him awake during classes -- Sirius always felt bad about doing so, because Remus’ legs were weak, but he had also learned that sleeping through classes made Remus more upset than being kicked in the ankle. Sirius also made sure he didn’t fall asleep during meals, or get left down in the Common Room at night, when he dozed off curled around his books.

And then there were the days when Remus was cross and snappish, and didn’t want to be touched, not even to be helped up the stairs. Those were the days when his mouth seemed to be stuck in a stiffy, unhappy line, and his eyes were dark with something that Sirius suspected was pain. Sirius had also discovered that those were the days that Remus most enjoyed a game of Wizard’s Chess, his face lighting up with unholy glee every time a pawn got its head sliced off. 

But most of the time he seemed as healthy as the rest of them – perhaps a little bit peaky, but it wasn’t like he was always coughing or sniffling or had to have a special minder to wheel him around to lessons or feed him his meals, like some of the children Sirius had once glimpsed during a visit to St. Mungos. He didn’t talk to himself or anyone who wasn’t there, like Sirius’ Aunt Elladora had started to do. He did have nightmares, sometimes, but – in fairness – he wasn’t the only one. Even James Potter, Bravest of the Brave Gryffindors, had woken them all up one morning screaming about acromantulas. 

The one thing that Sirius thought was even slightly odd about Remus was that he had truly terrible luck with dogs – his Aunt Fiona’s terriers, his Gran’s crups, even Hagrid’s Elsie, who was normally quite gentle with students – the entire canine world seemed to conspire against Remus to knock him down and drag him about. He had offered to make a dog-repellent charm for Remus to wear, after the crups incident, but Remus had flushed red, shook his head and muttered something about his Gran getting on in years and it wasn’t a worry, really, and Sirius had had too many etiquette lessons to ever mention it again.

“Not funny,” Sirius said to the window, and yawned. There was a rustling from behind him, a muffled thump, and a squeal of static as Potter turned the wireless on.  
“This is Ashomphus Jones of the Wizards Wireless Network, reporting live from John O’Groats, where meteorwizards have informed me that there is at least a metre of snow on the ground after the Blizzard of the Century. I’ve also been asked to remind our listening audience that travel is extremely treacherous across Britain, and the Ministry is encouraging everyone to stay indoors with a good book and hot cocoa – if you must travel, be sure to Floo ahead confirm your appointment or the availability of services at your destination --“ the announcer said, his tone suggesting that being snowed in was some sort of grand adventure or rare treat. Sirius made a face at the window, because he still hated being trapped inside, even if there was a good reason.

“Hmmph,” Potter said, and Sirius heard a creak as someone opened a trunk. 

“Pettigrew! Up!” Potter snapped, winging a shoe at the base of Peter’s bed. He was answered with a muffled squeak and Sirius heard a second thump and squeak.

“Too snowy for lessons,” Peter said, wandering towards the shower, and Sirius silently agreed with him before unfolding himself from the window and wandering over to poke at Remus’ shoulder until he woke up.

**

Later that morning, Sirius was poking at his eggs and pondering the addition of tomato ketchup when the mail owls came swooping in, scattering snow across the Great Hall. About half of them veered towards the Slytherin table, but just as Sirius was reaching for the ketchup bottle, he felt the pinch of talons on his forearm and the brush of fine stationary against his other hand. Sirius turned and looked at the bird and was startled when he realized it wasn’t the one his mum normally used. In fact it was one of Aunt Cassiopea’s owls. 

“Pretty,” Remus said, next to him, and offered the bird a bit of sausage. Sirius made an amused noise, took the envelope, and glanced at it briefly before shoving it under his plate.

“Thank you, Dagon,” he said, “why don’t you go and have a rest in the owlry for a bit before you head back, hmm?” The bird clicked its beak at him and flapped away. Sirius made a little lake of ketchup amid his mountains of eggs, speared a sausage and dipped it in the ketchup experimentally. 

“Eugh,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, from somewhere above his head. “Black, that’s a crime against innocent sausage –“

“Tastes better this way,” Sirius said, and popped it in his mouth.

**

On the other side of the room, Severus Snape started his morning with a bowl of carefully sweetened porridge and (much to his irritation) a short, spikey shower of owls. 

“Honestly, Black,” he said, when the first one drifted down to perch on his shoulder and dropped its burden on top of Narcissa’s waffles. She widened her eyes at him – grey and placid as a frozen lake, that morning – tossed her hair, which was done in fat ringlets, and smelled of strawberries -- and trotted out a smile that made his skin itch. It was the one she used on professors when she didn’t get her way. 

“Simpering does not become you,” he snapped, taking a spoonful of porridge, and she handed the owl a bit of waffle for its trouble. Severus hissed in irritation as several more swooped in to take its place, dropping feathers all over the table. The other First Years shifted their plates out of the way, but said nothing. Narcissa Black was infamous for receiving vast quantities of letters, mainly due to her brief stint as a model for Twillfit and Tatting’s line of Fine Robes for Young Ladies. 

“Oh, look, one from the Minister,” Narcissa said, dipping her head as she ruffled through her growing pile of post. “Mum must have put the notice in the Prophet already.” She straightened up and leaned forward, turning her head towards Lucius Malfoy, who also had owls perched all around him. Severus curled his shoulders slightly forward and took another bite of porridge.

“Well, well, well, Miss Black,” said a familiar, overly-jolly voice, and Narcissa straightened up, her face settling into the vaguely innocent, receptive expression she used when speaking to Professor Slughorn. Severus glanced up and had to repress an irritated noise. Really, the man was transparent. “Let me be the first to congratulate you on your engagement to Mr. Malfoy,” he continued. “We will have to have a special Slug Club meeting to celebrate.” He gave her a broad wink and she tittered into her hand. Severus kicked her in the ankle.

**

Ted found Andromeda in their bedroom, her back a narrow line of black against the bright yellow walls, her face pressed against the window, gazing out at the snow-covered street, tracing the ferny frost patterns with her fingers. He noticed she had left that mornings Prophet and her socks to dry on the radiator.

“What is it, love?” he said, and sat down on the bed. “Rough day at work?”

“No more than usual,” she said, with a little shrug. “Didn’t have to sleep in a barn, this time, which I suppose qualifies as an improvement.”

“Hmm,” he said, and moved toward her, slowly, and rested a hand on her back, and was surprised to find she was trembling. 

“Andromeda,” he murmured, hooking his arm around her waist to pull her close, and she sighed.

“Did you see the paper – our paper -- today?,” she asked, softly.

“I glanced at the Quidditch results over breakfast,” he said, and she chuckled against his chest, curling her fingers around his arm. He rested his cheek on the top of her glossy black head and waited.

“They’re going to marry her off to Malfoy,” she said, in a rush, and pressed her face into his shoulder.

“But I thought – Lestrange –“ Ted began, and ground to a stunned halt when Andromeda shook her head.

“Not Bella,” she said. “He _deserves_ Bella. No. Narcissa.” He felt her fingers clench on his forearms and tightened his hold on her.

“She’s still a child,” he said, horror mixing with disgust in his voice.

“It’ll be a long engagement,” she said, easing back slightly. “It isn’t uncommon, with us – them.”

“A lot can happen in seven years,” Ted murmured into her hair, and Andromeda nodded, settling back against him, and he felt her relax.


	13. Prelude to a Duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: 19
> 
> (sleep wake hope and then) they  
> said their nevers they slept their dream
> 
> stars rain sun moon  
> (and only the snow can begin to explain  
> how children are apt to forget to remember. . .
> 
> ~ anyone lives in a pretty how town / e. e. cummings
> 
> Though really I had the [whole thing](http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15403) in mind, not just the prompt-y snippet.

Severus watched the news of Narcissa’s engagement blow across the Great Hall like a summer storm, thunderous whispering rolling up and down the tables, darkening moods and (in some cases – mostly Hufflepuffs) dampening faces. He detected one or two instances of naked revulsion among the 7th year Gryffindors and several of barely-concealed envy amid the better-connected Ravenclaws. She sat next to him and received her congratulations between bites of waffle, dispensing her approval with queenly grace, an assessing eye, and the ghost of a triumphant smile -- Narcissa Black, the flower planted accidentally and grown in the shadow of stars, but now ready to bloom beneath the eyes of Lucius Malfoy. 

Severus took another bite of his porridge and cut his eyes down to the far end of the table, where Malfoy was sorting his post and listening to Crouch. Severus couldn’t hear what they were saying but Crouch was leaning forward over his eggs, his eyes narrow in his pale face.

He felt two slightly chilly fingers close around his free wrist and exert a gentle pressure, and turned his head, as if he were looking for the sugar bowl. Sirius Black was standing on the opposite side of the table, his lips pressed in a thin line. Severus slid his gaze left and right, but there was no sign of Black’s pet half-breed, or the Potter brat. Perhaps the boy had retained some manners, even living among Gryffindors.

“Congratulations on your engagement, cousin Narcissa,” he said, tilting his head forward, as much of a bow as any Black ever made, even amongst themselves. “I wish you all the joys of a fruitful marriage.” He practically spit the words at her, his lips twisting into a sneer. _Jealous,_ Severus thought, _and indiscreet as well -- no wonder the Hat sorted you in with the common rabble._

“Thank you, cousin Sirius,” Narcissa said, using her fork like a stiletto, accumulating pieces of waffle with studied grace. “I do hope your parents will be able to secure an equally – advantageous – match for you,” she added, with a slow smile. Sirius flushed, two spots of red blooming on his high cheekbones, and Severus took a drink of pumpkin juice to hide a faint smile. Black would be lucky if his parents could find anyone who would consider him – Narcissa had suggested they would have to cast their net as far as the Continent, where there were many families of impeccable magical heritage with empty vaults who would overlook a good deal to have them filled.

The news of the Black families latest shame – their Heir, their incipient Dark Prince, bedding down with half-breeds, Mudbloods and blood-traitors -- was still rippling through Pureblood society. Coming as it had, hard on the heels of an equally damaging summer scandal -- a broken engagement, a disobediant daughter fleeing in the night to the arms of her Mudblood lover – it had nearly queered the pitch for Narcissa. The Malfoys had been justifiably concerned, wary, even, but Narcissa had ducked her head and offered herself as a kind of penance, wearing the Black family honor on her narrow shoulders like a velvet traveling cloak, and she had been victorious.

Severus turned back to his porridge and waited for Black to leave, but instead he stood there, grey eyes -- so like Narcissa’s – boring into Severus, as if daring him to speak. He took another bite of porridge, and settled his hand on the end of his wand, marshalling his favorite hexes.

“You’re dismissed, Sirius,” Narcissa said, and captured a strawberry between two pale fingertips and raised it to her lips. Severus saw Black rock forward and rose to his feet, blocking Narcissa in one smooth movement.

The hall fell silent, and for one moment Severus froze, aware of being watched by many eyes, and then Dumbledore’s voice rang out, bright and horribly cheerful. Severus smirked as Black turned and stalked off towards the Gryffindor table.

“Good morning, students! I trust you have all enjoyed a fine breakfast. I have only a few announcements this morning – first, all Professor Sprout and Professor Kettleburn have asked me to inform you that all Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures classes have been cancelled for the next two days, so that they might prevent their charges from becoming frostbitten. Secondly, Professor Flitwick and Professor Turtledove have asked me to inform you that they will be running a dueling clinic tomorrow afternoon in the Great Hall, and interested students should see one of them to sign up for a place on the roster,” the Headmaster said, and then the bell rang, signaling the end of breakfast.

**

“ _Tarantellgra,_ ” Severus whispered, as he passed the Gryffindors on the way to Charms, and Sirius danced halfway down the corridor to Defense Against the Dark Arts to the tune of James’ laughter before Remus could catch up with him and end the spell. When the dueling clinic parchment made it to their end of the classroom, Remus noticed that Lily Evans had put her name down as well.

**

“ _Rictusempra,_ ” Sirius hissed as they navigated around the Slytherins on the way to Charms, and Remus saw Snape’s mouth stretch into a lantern-like grin out of the corner of his eye. Ahead of him, Lily seemed to be talking to herself and winding her wand through the folds of her robes in a way that could have been accidental, or absentminded, until Narcissa Black let out a screech and everyone turned to look and noticed that her fat curls had come undone and her golden hair was backcombing itself of its own accord.

**

“Wargle,” said Peter, and rolled over, burrowing deeper into his covers. _Ten days,_ Remus thought, and sighed and squinched his eyes shut against the intrusions of the dim light still shining from behind Sirius’ bed curtains, and eventually drifted off to sleep, lulled by the sound of the wind blowing snow around the Tower.


	14. Practical Demonstrations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: 20 (two men walking down a snowy, tree-lined lane)

“—very awkward, of course, but the boy was quite gracious– oh, how very interesting – Orion, look, I think that’s a fanged geranium growing wild just there –“ Perseus Black said, and leaning over to peer through the low wooden fence that was struggling to hold back the Wood, tugging on his brother’s sleeve and gesturing with his wand. The plant swivelled toward him and snarled, and both men jumped back.

“Yes, definitely a fanged geranium,” Orion murmured, tucking the ends of his scarf into the folds of his robes. It was a sunny day, but not a warm one; snow lingered on the trees and the sides of the dirt track, and there were patches of ice scattered on their path. He hid a yawn in his collar; it was not yet noon and already he had had a very long day. 

First he had come down for a late breakfast to find Perseus sprawled in his favorite chair, reading _The Joy of Cooking Slow-Acting Poisons_ and eating toast spread with the last of his favorite strawberry marmalade, and then, just as he was handed his first cup of tea, Regulus had burst in and thrown himself in his lap, feverish, tearful and incoherent. 

Along with Regulus came the governess (whey-faced) and Leonia (tight-lipped), and so there had been a blazing row on the merits of taking the child to St. Mungos versus permitting Perseus to dose him with home-made Flu-Be-Gone potion. In the end Perseus and his potion carried the day, and Orion had gathered his son up and taken him back to bed, amid whispered promises of sweets and trips to Quality Quidditch Supplies if he would just lie down and rest, but the boy had clung to him and sniffled until Perseus appeared with the potion vial (slightly warm from having been handed through the Floo) and they had managed to settle him. 

Orion had returned to the dining room, intending to ask the house-elves for a fresh cup of tea and perhaps a chocolate scone, when Perseus had glanced at his watch and announced they had to hurry or they would be late, and he did not want to keep Abraxas Malfoy waiting. That was when Orion had given up any hope of a proper breakfast, allowed himself to be bundled into his least-favorite traveling cloak and merely sighed when Perseus turned to him and said “Carpark, Blackmoor Copse!” before Apparating.

“So, how was Egypt?” Perseus asked, tugging Orion back to the present, while fishing in the pockets of his robes and extracting a slim cigarette case. He popped it open and proffered it to Orion, who waved it away. Perseus popped one out and lit it with his wand, pleasure softening his face.

“Hot – dusty – full of idiots who buy cursed objects and do themselves an injury with them,” Orion said, and Perseus snorted. “Which reminds me, one of them may be useful to you – does unpleasant things to people who disturb plants.”

“What sort of plants?” Perseus said, and took a deep drag off of his cigarette. “And don’t say “green ones”, little brother,” he added, cutting his blue eyes sideways.

“The – well – former owner left notes to suggest that at least some of them may have had medicinal uses,” Orion said, and Perseus nodded, his lips curving into a smile. 

“Any news from up north?” Orion asked, after they had walked in silence for a while, listening to the birds calling back and forth. Perseus grimaced, and his face darkened.

“He – does not appear to be brutalizing her. But -- I refuse to believe that she is _happy_ , and her mother insists she’ll come crawling back sooner rather than later. Parkinson said they are living in a thing called a _council flat_ – surrounded by Muggles,” Perseus said, and shuddered. “Her sister tried to go and fetch her back, of course, but –“ Perseus’ mouth quirked up into an unconcious smile, and he stood a little straighter – “well, the house-elves found Bellatrix at the bottom of the ha-ha the next morning, wearing nothing but her knickers and the remains of her broom.”

“Mmm, that’s our girl,” Orion said, and Perseus glared at him for a moment before they both burst out laughing. 

“Anyway -- I had an owl from Nott this morning -- Allenby has decided to give up the classroom at the end of this year and take a Ministry job – “ Perseus said, and flicked ash onto the path.

“—patch of ice, mind yourself–“ Orion muttered, eyes on the path, and pulled his cloak tight against the wind. 

“ – and that the Headmaster has refused to give the position to –“ Perseus continued, and all of the ice on the path melted.

“ – that man. Mm-hmm. Did he give a reason, or did he just twinkle insufferably?” Orion said, frowning faintly. 

“I believe he twinkled – Nott was in the pub, you understand, he just heard about it afterwards – but Nott suggested it was – the usual sort of objections,” Perseus muttered, and paused again to peer into the dimness of the forest floor. “I do wish I had brought my cuttings bags with me,” he added, and Orion rolled his eyes at his brothers back.

“Soft-hearted Muggle-loving nonsense, you mean,” Orion said. “So Abraxas has called a meeting in the middle of the Merlin-forsaken woods to do – what, exactly?” 

“Discuss our options,” Perseus said, straightening up, his black hair, now mixed with grey, falling into his face. “The Board of Governors does have _some_ influence on goings-on at the school, you know. It may be that we can – provide our fellow parents with – ah – information that may be useful to them. Ah, here’s the yew-line,” he added, and climbed over the fence. “It’ll just be down this way a bit – “ Perseus said, and slipped away into the trees.

**

“Ladies! Gentlemen! That will be quite enough,” Dumbledore said, his low voice slicing through the babble as he stood up. Orion, who was closest to the desk, found himself backing up automatically, and felt Perseus fingers exert steady pressure on his lower back, pushing him back into position. _Steady,_ he thought, and suppressed a sigh. Lunch had consisted of a couple of pumpkin pasties and two bottles of butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, before Malfoy had marched them up the path to Hogwarts, his blond hair streaming out behind him like a battle-flag. 

“Sir, we respect your objections, but -- we really must insist,” Dolohov said, from somewhere to the right, and Dumbledore turned towards him, his lined face impassive. “Lord Voldemort is a very – talented – wizard, with vast experience with the Dark Arts. Who would be a better instructor for our children?”

“I see,” Dumbeldore murmured. “But I think Professor Turtledove is both experienced and talented, and, also, wasted in the area of Muggle Studies. Perhaps you would be reassured by a – practical demonstration?” The headmaster swung his gaze over them and Orion’s lip curled – the twinkle had finally manifested itself, just as it had the September afternoon he had stormed in and demanded Sirius be re-Sorted. He and Phineas had ranted and roared (as much as a portait could roar) but the old man had just _smiled_ and _twinkled_ and offered him a biscuit and said the Hat’s decision was final.

“Practical demonstration?” Malfoy said, one thin eyebrow arching, and Dumbledore’s smile broadened.

“Professor Flitwick and Professor Turtledove are conducting a dueling clinic as we speak – as a bit of a diversion for the students – it has been a very long winter,” the Headmaster said, and there was a general rumbling of agreement.

**

“And, last but not least, for Gryffindor: Dearborn, Caradoc; Prewett, Fabian; Prewett, Gideon; Longbottom, Frank; Prewett, Alice; Shacklebolt, Kingsley; Black, Sirius; Evans, Lily, Murphy, Magdalena, and Potter, James,” Turtledove said, waving them forward with one narrow hand. “Right, that’s all of you?” he added, and looked around.

“Yes, sir,” Dearborn said, and Turtledove nodded and made a humming noise, looking over his charges from atop one of the two long, thin diases surrounded by a ring of low benches that had taken the place of the House dining tables in the Great Hall. From his place at the periphery, Remus could see Snape and Narcissa Black were among the First Year Slytherins, though Crabbe and Goyle had hung back with the other Second Years. He squinted, and noticed there were a few other vaugely familiar faces scattered through the ranks of the participants from the other Houses.  
“James is going to wipe the floor with that greasy git!” Peter hissed in his ear, and Remus shrugged. Sirius and James had been practicing hexes on each other (and, in James’ case, on anyone else who didn’t get out of the way) all morning. They were both literally bouncing up and down, and sparks popped out of James’ wand periodically.

“Right, sort yourselves out by year, please, Firsties up here by me, thank you, Fifth Years and above, you go down by Professor Flitwick,“ Turtledove said, and the clumps of students shifted, until each group was a mixture of red, blue, yellow and green. 

“How many of you have had instruction in dueling before?” Turtledove asked, and several hands rose, mostly among the older students, but also, Remus noticed, James’, Sirius’ and Snape’s. “Mm-hmm. Malfoy – Dearborn – get up here,” he said, and moved to the center of the dias. “Run through the basics for us, please – but pull your blows, as it were.”

Remus heard a faint crunching noise and turned his head to see Peter had his hand in a packet of crisps. 

“House-elves wouldn’t give me any popcorn,” Peter said, “and I found these in my trunk. Mum must have stuck them in at the last minute. Salt and vinegar --want one?” He proffered the bag to Remus, who shook his head, and turned back to watch the duellists. Dearborn was facing Malfoy and grinning faintly, his back ramrod straight, his wand already out and in place.

“First off, if you get the drop on them, get their wands away,” Dearborn said, and turned to shout _Expelliarmus!_ at Lucius, whose wand popped out of his hand and landed with a muffled thud on the floor. Snape picked it up and returned it, his black hair obscuring his face.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” Malfoy said, but without any real heat, and Dearborn rocked back on his heels as if someone had hit him over the head with something solid, before recovering.

“Yes, thank you, Lucius, that’s another option – knock them out and take their wand away. But supposing you are in a battle situation, you can also try – _Protego!_ ” Dearborn roared, and Malfoy lunged forward, shouting in Latin. His wand shot jets of red light but they bounced off and curved away, and Dearborn grinned.

“Just got that one yesterday,” he said to the audience, and there was a smattering of applause. Remus saw Malfoy roll his eyes.

“This one is quite hard, but any _talented_ wizard can do it – _Expecto Patronum!_ ” Malfoy said, and a silvery Chinese dragon burst out of the end of his wand and charged at Dearborn, who stepped out of the way with a smirk. 

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Tutledove said, “you may step down. Now, form up, all of you, two by two, and let’s start with _Expelliarmus_ all around, and when you’ve mastered that one, you take a crack at _Stupefy_ , hmm?” He waved his wand and mats appeared next to each set of partners.

Remus sat back and watched as various wands popped into the air; Sirius and James were partnered together, and were glaring at each other quite fiercely. Remus smiled faintly when James’ wand flew out ofhis hand and bounced off the dias. Lily and Magdalena were also together, and Snape was partnered with Nott, a pale, weedy boy, while Narcissa Black was glowering impatiently at Evangeline O’Hara, who seemed more interested in her hair than her wand. 

Turtledove walked up and down the row of students, stopping occasionally to offer words of praise or encouragement, or to consult with Flitwick. Remus saw a few scattered whisps of silver pop out from amid the older students, as well as one fully formed patronus – an enormous brown bear that lumbered through the Hall and made Peter squeak with alarm.

James had just made Sirius stagger back and trip onto his mat when the doors to the Great Hall creaked open. Remus watched as Turtledove turned to look, his expression both inquiring and confused, and saw the Headmaster, trailing a small group of adults. Dumbledore made a _Shhing_ gesture at Turtledove, and he turned back to the students, his shoulders drawn tight beneneath his robes.

The Headmaster motioned the adults towards the benches, and Remus studied the faces as they passed by, half-listening as Peter reeled off the names. 

“That’s Abraxas Malfoy, that is, the pointy bugger,” Peter hissed, “and that’s Raphael Corner, Gabe’s dad, and Roseannah Bones, that’ll be Amelia’s mum – oi, that’s Orion Black, and Perseus Black – odd, Corner and Bones didn’t even sign up –“

Remus made an agreeable noise and squinted at Sirius’ father. He could see Sirius in his face, mostly in the cheekbones, and they had the same long dark hair. But Sirius was softer around the eyes, and his nose was slightly beakier. Perhaps that was his mum’s influence. At the moment Orion Black looked very annoyed.

“Excuse me, sir?” Snape said, pulling away from the group, and Turtledove turned to face him. 

“Yes, Mr. Snape?” he said.

“Nott and I have mastered the defensive spells – may we try some jinxes now?”

“Black and I are ready for jinxes as well, sir,” James cut in, moving so he was standing next to Snape, who grimaced at him.

“Well then, perhaps you can be our next set of demonstrators – up you go,” Turtledove said, gesturing at the dias, and Snape wheeled around wearing an expression Remus didn’t like at all. James gave the professor a brilliant smile and followed Snape.

“Right, everyone, Mr.Snape and Mr.Potter are going to demonstrate some basic jinxes for us – “ he began, and he had hardly finished speaking when Snape shouted the incantation for the Jelly-Legs jinx, which James dodged, returning fire with something that made Snape trip, but he caught himself before he fell. 

He paused for a moment and a bolt of blue fire shot out – James dodged again, but not very well, and half the hair on his head suddenly grew very long, and fell forward into his eyes. There was another pause, as James pushed the hair back and raised his wand. He said something Remus didn’t quite catch, and waved his wand in a lazy circle, and Snape’s hair pulled itself back and tied itself in a bow, so that he looked like a supremely ugly Christmas present. 

Snape’s eyes narrowed, and he waved his wand, and James turned blue. Remus heard Peter gasp beside him and glanced over.

“That’s advanced, that is,” Peter said, with asniff. “Greasy git isn’t fighting fair.”  
Remus grunted and turned his gaze back to the dias; James had fired off another Tripping Jinx, though once again Snape did not fall. There was a long pause, and then Snape lunged forward, his wand moving fast, and James ducked two spells (one of which sparked when it hit the castle wall) before returning fire.

Peter was opening another bag of crisps when Remus heard a muffled shout and saw Sirius break away from the watching crowd and scramble up next to James, who had somehow or another sprouted a small set of antlers. 

Together, they advancd on Snape, not quite touching, their faces set in matching snarls, their wands tracing circles and whorls in the air. Snape ducked and twisted and fired back, and then Narcissa appeared beside him, drawing complex patterns in the air and calling out the spells in a high clear voice, until James and Sirius turned and staggered into each other.

“Jelly-Brain jinx,” Peter muttered around a crisp, and Remus nodded.

“Gentlemen! Miss Black! That will do,” Turtledove said, and the Prewetts came forward to lead James and Sirius off the dias.


	15. A Decent Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: 21-22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 21:  
> Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky,  
> That does not bite so nigh  
> As benefits forgot:  
> Though thou the waters warp,  
> Thy sting is not so sharp  
> As a friend remembered not.  
> -William Shakespeare
> 
> Prompt 22: sausages

“—just sit here a minute, Problem, Turtledove’ll be along to sort you out –“ 

Silence.

Thrumming. The memory of wind, blowing loud, hard and cold, of snow climbing up and settling cricklecrackle, smothering; someone was chanting, but the words wouldn’t come right. 

Someone humming, a high-pitched screeching, whispering, _don’t know any better, can’t tell the difference, never worked a day in th’lives._

The room was blurry and tasted of steak-and-kidney pie, chocolate cake and acidic burning bile. The big smudge tasted of peppery fish and asparagus.

Cold, and more chanting, a memory of heavy, scraping pressure and earth that sank away and ground in, blurry coppery earth with whisper-soft legs and crunchy shells that crawled and chittered. Wet and cold, now, but singing, pounding, _shhhhhh shhhhhhh shhhhhhhh_ CLANG!

“—Sirius—“

Chocolate, fresh ink, and a hint of vinegar; lemons. CLANG! _The Mudbloods go, or I do. We regret it has come to this. We will miss your wise counsel._

_Come on, sweet. Rats, and nesting place. They won’t last long. I’ll be back soon._

_You know, that – thing – he keeps in the cupboard, it isn’t right. Not like the rest of us. Too wild by half._

_Does she ever stop crying?_

_Done us a service, whoever it was. Didn’t like her anyway._

_Mine. My place. Home. My blood in the walls floors pipes winding winding breathing I will not be denied. I will be back. I will take this place. I will raise it up. I will see their foul blood run like a waterfall, we will feed the earth, we will do great magic here --_

Chocolate, ink, and lemons.

Silence.

“Sirius. Close your eyes. Go on, professor, before he gets away from me –“

**

Remus. Narrow, pinched face, pink mouth, red and gold tie swinging out of his robes, hazel eyes with a faint band of yellow, expanding contracting – a slow blink, and the band held steady.

Slightly cold hands on his wrists, fingers settled in his palms – resting, waiting. Slow steady breathing; knobby knees digging in to his hips.

“Better?” he said, and Sirius nodded, Remus’ warmth an anchor to the cold (blessedly silent) floor beneath him, not quite ready to be let up yet. Remus turned his head and Sirius closed his eyes; the room sounded of adults speaking in low voices and smelled like spell-residue. He counted his fingers and toes (five five five five) and ran a mental finger down all of his limbs; they were all still there. He thought his knees might be a bit scraped.

“Right front pocket of my robes,” Remus said, to no-one in particular, “might be a bit melted.”

Another, thinner, hand slid into Remus’ pocket and tugged out a half-eaten chocolate bar. Sirius thought briefly about turning his head and decided against it; he wondered if the faint dampness on his face meant he was bleeding. Remus moved one hand, curling his fingers into the edges of his robe, and applied soft pressure to Sirius’ face, until the dampness disappeared. The adult voices were growing louder, more insistant, angrier.

A square of chocolate appeared on his lips and opened his mouth slowly, balancing the sweet on the tip of his tongue. Remus grinned at him, his face relaxing, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and he pulled his tongue in. _Sweet soft milky crunchy nut!_ flooded Sirius’ mouth and he made a happy noise.

“Good,” Remus said, released Sirius’ hands and staggered upwards, nose wrinkling as his joints un-kinked. The thin, pale hand hove into view again, holding one of his walking sticks, and Remus took it and braced himself. Sirius pushed himself back and up, brushing himself off slowly. The room felt very big and very cold, and the adult voices had dropped again, still not happy but not shouting, either.

Sirius turned his head towards the adults and realized, with a jolt, that his father and Uncle Perseus were among them, grim-faced and thin-lipped, wearing traveling cloaks. _Mum? Regulus?_ he thought, and couldn’t breathe. He saw other faces he knew from his mother’s dinner parties – Abraxas Malfoy, Lloyd Rosier, Dmitri Dolohov, Johannes Mulciber and Edgar Nott, and some that he did not know at all. Nott had broken away from the knot of grown-ups and was sitting on the benches, watching Snape tumbling his son onto a mat.

Sirius scanned the room -- Lily was in mid-lunge; Magdalena was busy ducking, her black plaits flying. Alice Prewett had succeeded in knocking Frank Longbottom down and turning half his hair Gryffindor red. James was sitting next to Peter on one of the benches; the antlers were smaller and he wasn’t blue, but he did look a little dazed. Sirius turned back to Remus, who shrugged.

“Peter knew some of them – thought it was odd that Corner’s dad and Bones’ mum were here, and they’re not even fighting –“

“Board of Governors,” Sirius said, as the weight in his stomach grew lighter, and Remus nodded, his eyes widening with understanding. Sirius turned and walked towards the adults, and heard Remus tapping behind him. _Lupin and Pettigrew will have to go, of course, you can’t be seen associating with them,_ his father said in the back of his mind, and Sirius stopped and turned to face Remus.

“Er,” he said, and looked down at his shoes, not knowing what to say or how to say it. _You can’t be my friend because my father is an arse,_ he thought, into the silence.

“Half-breed cripple, unfit to be a wizard,” Remus said, mildly, and Sirius’ head snapped up, his eyes widening with horror. Remus smiled faintly.

“No better than an animal? Should have been put down at birth? Not surprising that a half-breed does good spellwork, surprising that one can do it at all? He could have had a better wife – one who was a witch, there were plenty around, he had no shortage of admirers, your dad. I could have had _talented_ grandchildren, ones I could be proud of --” Remus said, his tone still even, his lips still curved in a smile, and Sirius lunged forward, squeezing Remus until he squeaked.

“No, no, stop, _stop_ ,” he said into Remus’ shoulder. “Please stop.” After a minute Remus wriggled away, his fingers ghosting over Sirius’ wrists, and tilted his chin at the adults.

Sirius turned slowly and started walking again, each _tap!_ from behind him like a brush over his scraped knees. He ran his eyes over the clump of adults again, and rubbed his tongue against the top of his mouth. Mostly men, but two women: Bones’ mum and another woman who looked vaguely like O’Hara and was wearing a heavy diamond necklace in the middle of the day. Sirius turned and gave a broad wink at Remus, who arched an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

Sirius moved forward again, letting the sting of the scraped knees wash over him until he raised a sheen of wetness in his eyes – not actual tears, since Blacks didn’t cry – just enough to look brave and pitiful. He drifted slightly to the left, into Dumbledore’s line of sight, deliberately pulled his shoulders tight, and waited.

“Mr. Black, I see you have recovered from your brush with the Jelly-Brain Jinx,” Dumbledore said, and the circle of adults opened slightly. 

“Yes, sir,” Sirius said, looking at the headmaster but watching the women out of the corner of his eye. Bones’ mum was chewing her lip and had curled her fingers in her robes. O’Hara’s mum was fiddling with her necklace. 

“And Mr. Lupin, you should know I have awarded ten points to Gryffindor for your quick thinking,” Dumbledore continued.

“Thank you, sir,” Remus murmured, sounding surprised. Sirius thought about the talking floor and made a mental note to tell Remus later he had earned every point and more. He glanced at Dumbeldore for a minute, and to his surprise the headmaster inclined his head almost imperceptibly, the level of twinkle in his eye increasing slightly, as if he had read Sirius’ mind and found his plan amusing. Sirius pushed that thought away and let his shoulders sag. Bones’ mum rocked forward on her toes and O’Hara’s mum started chewing on her lip. 

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, I am sure that concludes our business –“ Dumbeldore began, folding his hands over his stomach. Sirius inhaled softly, just enough to imply a muffled sniffle, and heard his father make an irritated noise under his breath as he ducked around Rosier and Dolohov and picked him up. Sirius allowed himself to be shuffled onto his father’s hip and made as if to settle himself against one nubbly shoulder, meeting Remus’ eyes in the process and giving him a look that he hoped implied _Go sit with Potter and Pettigrew and wait for me._

Remus cocked his head to one side, shrugged, and obediantly tapped away. Sirius waited until he saw Remus poking at James’ antlers before he relaxed into his father’s warmth. He pulled one hand up to his mouth and contemplated his thumb. Regulus could still get away with it (and did, to great effect, especially with Mum) but Papa took a dimmer view. He settled on tucking it under his chin, shook his hair over his face and closed his eyes as his father slipped back into the circle.

“ – really, Headmaster, we must insist that you at least _interview_ other candidates,” Uncle Perseus said, and Sirius heard the echo of an irritated huff in his voice. “The man is competant enough, but he’s a Mu-“

“Mr. Black,” Dumbledore said, interrupting smoothly, “I understand you have – strong feelings – on the subject of bloodlines, but that sort of language is not permitted at Hogwarts, especially with students present. At any rate, if Professor Turtledove should find himself unable to accept the post, I would of course meet with any candidate -- _any_ candidate -- who presents him or herself and requests an interview. Now, if you will excuse me, I find I am late for a – staff meeting –“

“Headmaster,” Bones’ mum said, and Dumbledore rotated to face her. “May I take my daughter into Hogsmeade for dinner?”

“Of course you may, Roseannah, I will advise Professor Sprout as soon as I reach the staffroom. If any of the rest of you would like to do something similar, you may send a student with a note to the appropriate Head of House,” Dumbledore said, and glided off. Sirius felt his father pat his back in a contemplative way, and smiled behind his hair.

“Isn’t he precious,” a female voice said, and Sirius opened his eyes a fraction. Bones’ mum was leaning forward, smiling faintly. “And so brave. My Edgar got hit with a Jelly-Brain Jinx last year and he said it was just wretched – he was at the Quidditch, minding his own business, and then suddenly he could see out of his ears and the world tasted of yellow – gave him quite a turn, he said.”

“Mm-hmm, really,” his father said, in a short, clipped tone. Sirius was briefly extremely grateful that he had not had to view the world through his ears.

“Oh yes – and he didn’t have any mates with him that were nearly as quick off the mark as young Mr. Lupin. Anyway – I was going to take Amelia down to the Three Broomsticks – perhaps you’d like to join us? I was going to have her ask her dorm-mates along -- I’m sure all of the boys would love a treat –“ she said, and gave his father a broad, charming Hufflepuffian smile. Sirius felt his father inhale and pushed himself up, summoning a hopeful grin.

“Can we, Papa? Please?” he said, into his father’s narrowed eyes, and he heard his Uncle Perseus cough next to him.

“I was going to take Cissy down as well, and young Mr. Snape – she did mention he was quite interested in – certain sorts of potions –medicinal, you know,” his uncle said, and Sirius suppressed a snort. “She said he was quite keen to speak with me.”

“All right, go on and get them,” his father muttered, setting Sirius down gently, “your uncle and I will sort out the notes.” 

**

Later that night, Sirius was drifting off to sleep, stomach full of sausage and treacle tart, when he felt a weight settle on his bed. 

“Hmm? Remus?” he said, and waited.

“No,” James said, and Sirius sat up, rubbing his eyes. McGonagall had managed to reduce Potter’s antlers size by half again, but he still cast an odd shadow.

“What is it, Potter?” he said, feeling too full for a proper row.

“That was a – decent thing, you did, earlier, and I don’t just mean the pub, though – that was ace, too – I thought Remus was going to talk your father’s ear right off, who knew he was so interested in rare curses,” James said, sounding both amused and like every word cost him. “Thank you. And –“ he paused, and Sirius froze. “Welcome to Gryffindor, Sirius.”

“Thank you, James,” he said, and discoverd he couldn’t breathe for the second time that day.

“”night, then,” James muttered, and slid off the bed. 

“’night,” Sirius said, and lay down to sleep with a broad grin.


	16. A Bit of a Think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: 23  
> Say even that this complete simplicity  
> Stripped one of all one's torments, concealed  
> The evilly compounded, vital I  
> And made it fresh in a world of white,  
> A world of clear water, brilliant-edged,  
> Still one would want more, one would need more,  
> More than a world of white and snowy scents.
> 
> \- The Poems of Our Climate, Wallace Stevens
> 
> WARNINGS: Extensive discussion of lycanthropy as a chronic illness; Remus' relatives (not his parents) being cruel to him.

Remus tended to approach time as he approached building ship models; he stored his days in neat little piles, like decking spars, slotting them into his internal calendar one at a time, binding them together with a thin glue of homework, meals, lessons and lies – excuses – stories he told his friends. 

At the end of every model he sanded everything down and painted it neatly and gave it to his father, who found a shelf for it to sail on. At the end (or sometimes the beginning, or the middle) of every month, when the moon had come and gone, he wrote it all down and mailed it to his mum, and he wasn’t quite sure what she did with it. Perhaps she read it aloud to his father and Aunt Fiona, after Uncle Calum’s monthly letter. 

_Dear Sisters, This month I sailed to Rio with a cargo of holidaymakers . . . It was quite warm there, and I had a fine goat dinner while I was in port, but I missed dear old Oz . . . The children are growing like weeds; Laura sends her love . . . kiss the puffins for me, your devoted brother, Calum_

_Dear Mum and Dad, This month I did not chew my leg as badly as last time, but it was still quite sore . . . Madame Pomfrey is afraid I will become too dependent on the pain potions . . . I have learned how to turn a rat into a tea cup . . . Sirius turned his rat into two tea cups, one of which had little clawed feet . . . James ended with only one teacup, and it was still furry . . . Peter’s still had a tail . . . he said he felt sorry for the rat. This month I told them I was visiting Aunt Fiona and the dogs got after a bit of ham in my pocket (Sorry, Aunt Fi!) love, Remus_

The morning after the duel, Remus did not need to check his stack of days to know the moon was coming soon; he could feel it as it waxed, pouring through him, making his feet heavy and slow, his skin tight and itchy. His stomach rolled like the deck of his uncle’s ship so he faked his way through breakfast, eating just enough so that Peter wouldn’t ask any questions, and swapped his plate with Sirius’ when he wasn’t looking.

The moon made him tired. So tired. And the castle was full of people who were always screeching and thumping and running and breathing, pressing him against cold stone walls, touching him with hundreds of warm, damp hands, knocking over ink pots, throwing their clothes all over the room, chewing wetly and sneezing chunkily. 

Gryffindor Tower was the worst, with Sirius and James (now best of friends) wrestling on the floor, all knees and elbows and _laughing_ , while Shacklebolt yanked on Lily and Magdalena’s plaits and they chased him around the room, screaming in mock-outrage, until he paused behind the sofa and caught them, blowing air bubbles against their necks while they giggled. Peter had started a Gobstones league with a couple of Second Years and Frank Longbottom, and they seemed to be bent on systematically covering the room and everyone in it in slime.

That afternoon Dumbeldore announced that the grounds had been sufficiently cleared for outdoor breaks to resume, and after Charms, Remus fell back from the other Gryffindors, and allowed himself to be swept outside into the snow by a surging tide of Hufflepuffs. The wave broke and left him on the path to Hagrid’s hut, a thin narrow ribbon of stone in a sea of white snow drifts. 

Remus held still and closed his eyes, filling his lungs with cold, sweet air that did not taste of the sea, listening to the great rocky emptiness, until his thoughts became less spikey. After a minute he pegged a short ways down the path, squinting into the sun-glare, until the drifts gave way to a flat snow field, and he veered from the path, half-walking, half-pegging, until he beached himself on the frozen hulk of the season’s last giant pumpkin, left in the patch by accident, or perhaps by design. 

Remus stretched out, letting his legs hang over the side, muscles and scars pulled tight, the wind teasing his scarf, the edges of his cloak with puffs of snow, dusting him with frosty confectioners sugar like a particularly unlovely treat. If he held still long enough, they’d chip him out in a hundred years (or maybe just an hour or so), a frozen werewolf in the Scottish tundra, flesh perfectly preserved and ready for further academic study. Madame Pomfrey would probably save his medical records – a compendium of cures that didn’t work, a symphony of symptoms recorded in her tidy handwriting. His body could answer their questions and he could be silent.

_This is Harold Snigglepants from the Department of Ancient Medicine, Remus, he’ll be examining your bones today._

_When were you bitten, Remus?_

_When I was three._

Remus wiggled his hips and nestled deeper into the snow, the pull of the scars settling down into a comfortable burn.

_How did you come to encounter the wolf?_

_We were visiting Grandmother Lupin in Colchester and I had a dream and I was scared and I tried to find Mum but the door I opened took me outside, into the back garden, and then I couldn’t get back in, at first –_

_There’s a note here – it was unusual for someone bitten so young to survive the transformation at that time?_

_Yes._

_How did you do it?_

_I don’t know._

Grandmother Lupin had said he hadn’t died to spite her. She told him _It would all have been so tidy._ He had closed his hands around his mug – the thin-walled china a fluttering bird in his knobbly hands – and took a deep drink of hot, milky tea. _He could have divorced her, married again._

Mum had said he hadn’t died because he was too damn stubborn, and because island folk were tough and her family gave in when the ocean called them home, they didn’t succumb to mere _animals_. Dad had pinched the bridge of his nose and murmured something about luck.

_I see. And had you shown any signs of being a wizard at the time of the bite?_

_Yes. I opened all the doors in Grandmother Lupin’s house at once – afterwards._

That had brought his Mum out, finally, and his Dad. He didn’t remember much but the noise, the terrible noise, the banging and the screaming, and the burning pain. Uncle Augustus said the house had rocked on its foundations. Paintings had fallen off the walls. Grandmother Lupin’s bone china had gotten chipped.

_Mm-hmm. Interesting. I see another note – the Healers you saw initially told your parents you should be put down? Was that common at that time?_

_Yes. They said they could have other children – they were still young._

_The Healers made that comment while you were present?_

_No. I read my file, later, when I could read. It’s there, in the notes. “Parents advised that the creature should be humanely terminated. Healer Lovage of St. Andrew’s Wizarding Clinic, Colchester, performed routine tests and confirmed that the mother of the creature was still of childbearing age. Parents were additionally advised of Ministry Decree 183283 which governs the reproductive rights of wizards and/or witches who assume custodial responsibility for a Dark Creature, and Ministry Decree 183284, which governs the Requirements of Domestic Abode for Dark Creatures and/or their custodians if they are not of age.”_

_Decree 183283 – oh, I see. So you had no older siblings?_

_No._

But he had of cousins, though they were much older, more like tutors than siblings, or friends. And now he was at Hogwarts, living among an enormous noisy messy group of children. He had baby sisters (Lily, by three months, Magdalena, by five) and older brothers (James, by a month, Longbottom, Prewetts), who shouted and cried and loved and fought and laughed all around him, until his head spun and he had to sit down. 

And there was Sirius, the only one in their dorm room who had an actual little brother, who reached back to take his hand without thinking, when the others ran ahead; who liked to wake him up by jumping on him and sticking cold fingers up his pyjamas; who also hadn’t been accustomed to other children. They had been clumsy and grateful together, had stumbled around, shy and eager and wrong-footed, too loud and too soft, huddled together at meals, within and without the ring of Potter’s radiance. Had shrugged and sighed and communicated with arched eyebrows and wrinkled noses and vague gestures that meant _I suppose it’s normal?_ or _No I don’t understand either._

_And Decree 183284 – that was why your parents moved to Orkney?_

_Mum had family there, and it fulfilled the requirements._

_I see. Moving on to your treatments – looks like your parents did their research, hmm? You participated in a number of Ministry-supervised potions trials –_

_My Uncle Augustus needed a research subject._

And it was less expensive that way. The Ministry gave stipends to people who submitted themselves for experimentation. The potions tasted of rotton socks and old death and bought them milk biscuits meat and a little bit of strong cheese brought up special, the crock nestled in straw on the ferry. 

_\--and it says here you were seen by specialists at St. Mungos as well as in Bulgaria, France, Senegal, Outer Mongolia and – oh yes, South Dakota. They prescribed – well, quite a lot of things, hmm, yes –_

_I almost died in South Dakota. Apparently I’m allergic to penicillen._

_I see. Did any of the other remedies have an effect on your transformations or recovery?_

_No._

It still hurt. It still burned. His scars crawled over him and itched; his fingers and knees and ankles were sore when it rained. Some days he had to speak encouragingly to himself just to get off the couch; other days he could hurl his sticks at the wall hard enough to leave a dent. He raged, though he didn’t -- couldn’t -- let them see. He pulled the covers over his head and buried his face in a pillow and screamed and cursed until all his breath was gone. He stacked his days and wove his lies and tried to forget the moon, but the moon did not forget him; it rose again and again.

_The notes indicate that at one time your skin bore evidence of extensive scarring, especially on your hands and feet –_

“Foot!” someone exclaimed nearby, and Remus blinked, momentarily confused. He definitely had two feet, despite his – the wolf’s – best efforts to chew them off. A small, cold hand latched onto his ankle and yanked, and Remus slid off the pumpkin and onto the owner of the hand with a muffled squeak.

“Gerroff,” the person said, and shoved him off, so he landed face-first in the snow. A different hand, slightly larger, rolled him over, and a face – a familiar face, pale and thin and mostly grey eyes -- loomed in close. Remus closed his hand around a bit of snow and shoved upwards.

“Auugh,” Sirius said, “bloody bastard. Well spotted, Lily -- if he’s died of cold he’s come back to haunt us.” He crouched down next to Lily, one mittened hand on Remus’ knee.

“Wasn’t going to die,” Remus said, and sat up. The sun was slung low in the sky, and Lily’s hair glowed bright against the snow. They were both wrapped up in Gryffindor scarves, and Remus suddenly did want to go inside, where it was warm, where there were people and possibly sausages for tea, again. 

“Where’s James?” he asked, instead, half-surprised and half-grateful Sirius had left the comfort of the common room and the company of more normal children to come with Lily to find him -- Lily who was the youngest and always counted all of Gryffindor noses, twice per day, he’d watched her do it, trailing behind the Prewetts.

“Sent him ‘round the other way, with Peter,” Lily said, pushing herself up. “Was being a nuisance. We’ll catch them up eventually.”

“No, I’m Nuisance,” Remus murmured, and Sirius laughed at Lily’s baffled expression.

“Prewetts -- I’m Problem,” he said, and she nodded in agreement, smiling broadly.

“What do they call James, then?” she asked, as they tugged Remus up and pushed him towards the path.

“Trouble, I think. Peter’s Strife, if I remember right,” Sirius said, brushing the snow off Remus with quick, hard strokes, muttering about idiots who caught their bloody death of cold laying about in the snow on rotten pumpkins.

“It was loud in there. Just wanted a bit of a think,” Remus said, and Sirius sighed, but in a way that suggested he understood.

“Nuisance, Problem, Trouble and Strife,” Lily murmured, as they picked their way up the hill, towards the lights, and Remus smiled into his scarf. She made them sound like an incantation, or a matched set of drawings, incomplete without each other.


	17. Firelight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: 24-25
> 
> 24: (picture) – foot with sock with hole in toe poking out from under a blanket
> 
> 25:  
> I’m trying not to be so antisocial  
> Truth be told, I’m not entirely hopeful  
> I’ve woken up on one too many floors  
> But my favourite was yours
> 
> ~ There Is A Boy That Never Goes Out / The Lucksmiths

Tap. _Thud._ Tap.

Alice Prewett adjusted her position on the couch to look more as if she were asleep, angled her head towards the stairs, and let her eyes droop shut. She had started the evening working on Care of Magical Creatures homework with Frank Longbottom, but he had been sound asleep over his essay for an hour now, sprawled over half the couch with his feet perched on top of the arm of the sofa, but she had decided to practice her stake-out skills rather than leave him and go to bed. She had tugged the quill free of Frank's fingers and slid the parchment out from under his chin and set them on the floor, next to his school bag. Angelus Spinnet had come down from the dormitory with Frank’s quilt and a knowing smirk not long thereafter, and dropped it on him while waving a cautionary finger at her. 

Alice had rolled her eyes at him and spent some time counting Frank’s freckles and watching his foot twitch in his sleep; his sock had a gigantic hole in it, and she was torn between tickling his big toe and trying to get the sock off so she could mend it. It ate at her that Frank went about with holes in his socks, as if he had no-one to look after him. He claimed he liked it better that way, and that his toes needed air, but he didn’t complain when Alice cracked and _accio_ ’d his socks right off his feet and darned them with her wand. In fact sometimes she got a two-dimple smile that made her stomach roll over and feel sort of queasy. She had noticed that recently he seemed to be missing buttons on his shirts, which had also started to push at familiar sore places in her mind. 

Tap. Tap. 

The door creaked open and Remus Lupin slipped in through it, his pale little face soft and sleepy, a blanket clutched against his chest as if he were six. She was glad her hair was falling forward so he couldn’t see she was smiling at him in his pyjamas with the little erumpents on them. He did try so hard to be proper and dignified. Fabian and Gideon called him Nuisance but the girls referred to him as The Professor when he couldn’t hear them (they didn’t want to hurt his feelings), mostly because he spoke in complete sentences _all the time_ and already looked, well, patched and tweedy.

He definitely wasn’t like the other firstie boys; James Potter and Peter Pettigrew were always bouncing around the Common Room pretending to be nudnus, shouting about Quidditch or spilling slime on people, and Sirius Black didn’t spend much time in the Common Room, though he did come down sometimes, for a game of Exploding Snap or Wizard’s Chess. 

Frank said this was because he was a snotty little brat and thought he was too good for them, because he was Sirius Black, of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, and a Dark wizard training in besides, didn’t even belong in Gryffindor. Alice, however, had a feeling he was just trying to be polite and keep out of their collective way, and that he might come down more often if half the girls in the House didn’t sit and _stare_ at him when he was there, like great pole-axed ninnies. 

But Remus was usually around, tucked up in a chair or a corner of the room with a book or a ship model, head ducked, shoulders curled, occupying as little space as possible. He always looked slightly alarmed when people stopped to speak to him. Alice wanted to pat his shoulder and tell him it was all right, none of them would _really_ bite him, no matter how much Dearborn growled. 

At the moment he was making a little nest on the floor by the fire, using his blanket and some pillows someone had left out, earlier. Alice watched him absentmindedly, half-aware her fingers were straying towards Frank’s curls. She liked his hair, it was soft and smelled sort of minty. She rested her fingertips on the crown of his head and he made a contented noise in his sleep. 

Remus walked around his nest three times before he settled down and curled up under the blanket, arms crossed over his face, his back to the fire, his sticks next to him on the floor. After a while Alice heard him start to snore. She wondered what had propelled him out of his perfectly good bed in the Tower – a bad dream, perhaps. 

Sometime later, after she had refreshed the fire once, Alice was contemplating moving her fingers to Frank’s neck just to see if he would notice when she heard someone else come down the stairs from the Tower, someone small, going by the softness of the footfalls. Frank wriggled in his sleep and stretched, so his head was in her lap. Alice settled her hand on his neck and waited.

This time the door opened to reveal Sirius Black, his hair sticking up like knarl quills and wearing a nightshirt. Unlike Remus he paused and surveyed the room before coming all the way through the door. Alice felt his eyes slide over her and Frank and pause for a long moment before they moved on. She held very still and tried to breathe in rhythym with Frank. Apparently satisfied, he crossed the room and knelt down next to Remus. Alice heard some rustling and sleepy muttering and what was probably Remus shifting around, and then she saw Sirius settle down next to Remus under the blanket, so they were back to back in the nest, their feet resting against the edge of the hearth. After a while their combined snoring, coupled with Frank’s extra warmth, lulled her to sleep and she saw nothing else for quite a while.


	18. Reports of Unrest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: 26-29
> 
> 26: Antisthenes says that in a certain faraway land the cold is so intense that words freeze as soon as they are uttered, and after some time then thaw and become audible, so that words spoken in winter go unheard until the next summer. ~ Plutarch, Moralia
> 
> 27: permafrost
> 
> 28: "Now is the winter of our discontent." ~ Richard III, William Shakespeare
> 
> 29: Photo: Man walking on a snowy mountain overlooking a loch
> 
> Also: [The historical events of January 30, 1972. (BBC link)](http://news.bbc.co.uk/onthisday/hi/dates/stories/january/30/newsid_2452000/2452145.stm)

“Where are you going _now?_ ” Sirius said, as he pulled himself up into Remus’ bed, next to the small stack of folded clothes. Sirius counted three pairs of everything – trousers, pants, jumpers, neatly rolled socks – and one pair of pyjamas. He patted one of the jumpers absentmindedly; it was soft and nubbly and wooly under his hand. 

“Doctor’s appointment,” Remus said, around a yawn, looking up from his trunk. “Dublin. Leaving t’morrow, early. Be back on Monday night.” 

“But – Pomfrey – St. Mungos --“ Sirius began, and settled back on his heels, as Remus rubbed at his eyes with one hand. Remus didn’t look ill – well, any more than usual – more tired than anything else. He had been going through a cranky and fretful stage, but then, so was nearly everybody, having been cooped up in the Castle for almost the entire week.

“One of Dad’s mates – works for the Irish Ministry,” Remus said, and yawned until he squeaked. “Been doing research on Wizarding and Muggle medicine and why –“ he paused and yawned again ”—bits get cocked up. Wanted to see me.” 

“Wanker!” Peter said, from the direction of James’ bed, and Sirius turned to see a cloud of ash falling slowly on to the coverlet, and James’ triumphant smirk. James waved his wand and the ash disappeared.

“I’ve been to Dublin,” Sirius said, turning back around, and Remus arched an eyebrow at him and began shoving the clothes into his school bag. “Only saw the Wizarding bit, though. They have a cracking Quidditch shop, though.”

“Mm,” Remus said, and settled the bag on the floor at the end of his bed. 

**

“Pick me! Pick me!” Peter squealed, and Sirius turned his head to see Alice Prewett smiling as she settled back in the sofa amid a crowd of First and Second Years.

“Right, Pettigrew,” she said. “Let’s have a look at you, then,” and Peter revolved in a slow circle, arms akimbo. Evans was leaning on the sofa arm next to Alice, watching him and chewing on her plait. She had a faint bruise on her cheek from where a Slytherin snowball had struck home earlier in the day. James had roared vengeance and charged the Slytherin lines, Sirius and Peter hot on his heels. They had surprised Snape and Narcissa and taken out half the Slytherin ammunition stash before Crabbe and Goyle appeared and threw them into a cluster of Ravenclaws.

“—and there’s Jocelind Wadcock making the goal for Puddlemere – the Kestrals are struggling today, that’s for sure,” the announcer said, and Sirius smiled and rearranged himself in the chair to take better advantage of the fire. James, who was next to him, flopped out on the floor, made a disbelieving noise.

“Just lucky, is all,” he muttered. 

“Jealous, Potter?” Sirius said, leaning over, and James glared at him, but didn’t move.

“You had – spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, and the roast for lunch. You’ve just been playing Exploding Snap with Potter, and –“ Alice said, and Peter’s eyes grew wide.

“ – We interrupt this match for a very special announcement from the Ministry –“ the wireless said, and James groaned.

“—you’ve written your mum and dad to tell them we thrashed the Slytherins and to ask for more crisps, and you used Uriel –“ Alice said, and Peter gasped.

“This is Ted Tonks for the Wizarding Wireless Network, reporting live from Dublin –“ the wireless said, and Alice’s mouth snapped shut. 

“Ted?” Sirius said to the wireless, surprised, and James glanced up at him inquisitively. “My cousin,” Sirius said. “More or less. Married to Andromeda. Thought he worked for the Muggle news –“

“Guess not,” James said, and sat up. “Or maybe he does both, like.”

“What else?” Peter said, leaning forward, and Alice shook her head. 

“Not now, Pettigrew,” she murmured, and stood up, moving towards Sirius and James, her lips set in a thin line. She crouched down next to James and rested her hands on her knees.

“ – where the Irish Ministry has issued a statement indicating that they have temporarily taken themselves off the International Floo Network, and are asking that all witches and wizards who reside outwith the Republic who do not have official Ministry business in Dublin to please not travel to the city,” Ted continued, as gradually the Common Room grew quiet, until all Sirius could hear was the sound of the fire crackling.

“Foreign visitors already in the city are asked to remain indoors if at all possible, and to take extra care when moving about town. They further indicated that these decisions were taken in the face of the tragic events that unfolded this afternoon in Londonderry, in which thirteen Muggles died and fourteen were wounded. Aurors are investigating but it is not believed that Dark wizards were involved at this time. We have also received unconfirmed reports of unrest here in Dublin –“ Ted said, and Sirius felt his stomach fall into his ankles. _Remus,_ he thought, and glanced down at James, who looked similarly stricken.

Sirius glanced around the room – Lily looked baffled and alarmed, Peter had gone rigid as a board, Kingsley and Frank Longbottom had abandoned their game of Gobstones and were staring at the wireless, and both of the Prewetts were on their feet.

“Form up, Gryffindor,” Gideon said, as Ted wound down and signed off, and the Quidditch came back. “By year, please, quickly now. Firsties by me,” he added, and Sirius shoved himself off the chair and moved over, James trailing behind him. They shuffled together, shoulder to shoulder, and waited while the Prewetts went down the rows, counting noses and speaking softly to each other. Lily and Magdalena Murphy were whispering in the back; Sirius caught something about _cousins_ and shivered.

“We’re missing Lupin, McKinnon, Bagman and Podmore,” Fabian said.

“And Dearborn,” Gideon murmured, and there was a long pause. James raised his hand.

“What is it, Potter?” Fabian said, softly.

“Remus is meant to be in Dublin with his parents this weekend, just left yesterday morning, like,” James said, and Sirius saw both Prewetts stiffen and heard Lily inhale sharply behind him.

“Right,” Gideon said. “Dearborn and McKinnon are probably in the library. Longbottom, take Evans and go and fish them out. Tell them Ted was on the wireless –“ he began, and Frank and Lily were moving before he finished the sentence. “Bagman and Podmore are probably on the pitch. Shacklebolt and Jordan, go and bring them in – same message –“ he continued, and Shacklebolt snapped off a salute before disappearing through the portrait hole with Anselm Jordan right behind him.

“Ravenclaw will have heard,” Fabian said, “there’s always a wireless on up there –“ he paused and ran his eyes over the serried ranks of Gryffindors. Peter raised his hand.

“Yes, Pettigrew?” Gideon said, and Sirius saw Peter swallow hard.

“M’dad’s a Hufflepuff,” he said, and Fabian turned to face him, and nodded.

“Go down with Vance and no stopping by the kitchen until you’ve given them the message – all of the message, please, as much detail as possible,“ he said, and glanced back at his brother. There was a long silence, in which Sirius listened to the Gryffindors shuffling, poked James in the elbow, and tried not to think about Remus and his parents, possibly trapped in Dublin or trampled by Muggles.

“Black,” Gideon said, and Sirius looked up. “Malfoy is your cousin?”

“More or less, unfortunatly,” Sirius said, and Gideon cracked a small smile before his face grew solemn again. “Come on with me. Your Andromeda told me once that wirelesses don’t work that far undergound – always had to sneak hers up to listen properly – and Malfoy’s probably got them all locked down --” he said, and Sirius nodded, following him to the portrait hole.

“As you were,” Fabian said, behind them. “Our Alice, you’re to keep order. When Dearborn and McKinnon get up here tell them I’ve gone to the Headmaster. Send Potter if there are any messages.” 

**

Sirius knocked on the door of the Slytherin Common Room and waited, while Gideon was a large, warm presence behind him. After a minute the door creaked open, and revealed Severus Snape, who looked from him to Gideon with thinly disguised loathing.

“We haven’t got anyone we’d trade,” he said, after a minute, and Sirius pushed down the urge to punch him.

“I’ve come to see Lucius, please,” he said, and Snape smirked. “We’ve got information he needs.”

“I doubt it,” Snape said, and Gideon made an irritated noise. 

“Severus, who _are_ you speaking to?” someone said, from behind Snape, and Sirius saw a flash of familiar blonde hair.

“It’s me, Narcissa, cousin Sirius. Please, we need to speak to Lucius –“ he began, and heard Narcissa giggle. Snape’s smirk broadened.

“Look, you –“ Gideon said, and rocked forward to loom over Sirius’ head, forcing him to duck out of the way. Snape backed up into Narcissa, who screamed. There was a brief tussle and then Malfoy appeared, shoving Snape and Narcissa back into the room with broad, pale hands. There was a muffled thump and some cursing and then they reappeared on either side of Lucius, wands drawn.

“And Gryffindors are always preaching to us about picking on people our own size,” Lucius drawled, lips curved in a sneer, and Gideon snarled and reached for his wand. Sirius pushed back to the front and Malfoy’s sneer was trasnformed into a puzzled smile.

“Why, Sirius, this is – unexpected – you have decided to claim your rightful place, is that it?“ Malfoy asked, leaning forward slightly, blond hair falling over his shoulder. Sirius clenched his fist around his wand and took a deep breath.

“Ted Tonks was just on the wireless – interrupted the Quidditch,” Sirius said, and Lucius stood up and gave Gideon a long look over Sirius’ head. “From Dublin. Said something terrible had happened in Londonderry and they’ve cut themselves off the International Floo,” Sirius added, and Lucius exhaled slowly, and nodded at Sirius.

“We’re done here,” Gideon said, and turned on his heel. Sirius followed him, and felt Malfoy’s eyes on him all the way down the corridor.

**

“Where did Remus say he was stopping?” Peter asked, rolling over onto his stomach on James’ bed. It had been two hours since Alice Prewett had sent them all to bed with a kiss on the forehead and a squeeze to the shoulder, and they had spent most of that time huddled together on James’ bed with the wireless on. But the Quidditch game had continued uninterrupted. Sirius had spent most of the time wondering how to get a message to Andromeda at this hour of the night. She had to know _something._

“He didn’t,” Sirius said. “Just said he was going to Dublin to see a mate of his Dad’s that works for the Irish Ministry.”

“Did he say a name?” James asked, and unwrapped a chocolate frog.

“No,” Sirius said, and sighed. “The bloke studies Muggle medicine, though.”

“He’s been to see a lot of his father’s mates, hasn’t he? This year, I mean. There was the one in – where was it, James?” Peter said, and turned the wireless again.

“Cornwall,” James said. “in December, as well. Bloody parky. And the Isle of Wight before that, in November.”

“Which one was it that had the pinschers?” Sirius asked, remembering Remus telling them about a miscalculation involving ham in his pocket.

“Isle of Wight,” James said, “Cornwall had the Great Dane. You’d think he’d learn to not keep his lunch in his pocket.”

“Went to see his Uncle Augustus, in October – that was when his gran set the crups on his mum, remember, and he tried to drive them off –“ Peter said, and Sirius winced.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” James said, settling down against his pillows. “He’s with his mum and dad, right? And the bloke is with the Ministry. Probably tucked up with cocoa and a book right now.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, and decided he would owl Andromeda in the morning.

**

“Ahem,” the man in the painting said, from far down the wall, near the fire place, and the minister jumped, sloshing liquid from his glass over his hands. He had been contemplating a small photograph on his desk – it showed a tiny man climbing peaceful, snow-covered mountain overlooking a loch. It was Scottish, apparently, and had been posted to him by a kind old dear in Pitlochery. He had been watching it and sipping his Laigvullen and trying to think calming thoughts. 

He had spent the bulk of the day in hastily called meetings, or on the phone with increasingly hysterical individuals, and the news had grown more awful by the minute. The next day he was going to have to go and face Parliament and say _something._

“Mr. Home Secretary,” the man in painting said, and the minister sighed.

“That’s it, I’m cutting you off,” he said aloud.

“Please stand by,” the painting said, and the minister levered himself up. The painting had started talking to him once before, back in December after that dreadful business with the pub; it was usually a sign it was about time to call for a car and go home before the drink made him see things as well as hear things.

There was a flash of green fire and a man fell out of the fireplace. He was tall and had a thick, lion-like head of hair, and appeared to be wearing a dress. The minister had seen _him_ back in December as well.

“Mr. Home Secretary,” he said, and the minister downed the rest of the drink.

“No, thank you,” he said. “Have to be going now, you see. Needed at home. Don’t have any time for hallucinations.”

“I’ve been instructed by the Minister of Magic to inform you that my department has performed a thorough scan of the area and we have not detected any magic of any kind,” the man said, ignoring him. The minister sat down, feeling defeated. He rubbed his temples and wondered if that constituted good news.

“Thank you,” he said, automatically, as the man seemed to be waiting for some sort of response. 

“Goodnight, sir,” the man said, after a minute, and then got up and stepped into the fire place, where he disappeared in a flash of green fire.


	19. We Also Serve Who Stand And Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 30
> 
> After a full year  
> of gazing out, one morning  
> I open my door --  
> to a thin snowfall, frozen --  
> the far edge of loneliness.
> 
> hitotose o / nagametsukuseru / asatoide ni / usuyuki kooru / sabihisa no hate
> 
> \-- Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241), 'Winter Morning'
> 
> WARNINGS: Lucius Malfoy being the most enormous ass *ever*.

The window was cold against Dumbledore's forehead and fingertips, the roof of the castle lightly dusted with snow. Outside the wind was blowing hard, whistling through cracks in the masonry, whipping the branches the trees in the Forbidden Forest. The castle creaked and groaned beneath his feet, ancient bones complaining of one more winter, one more year to stand watch, to defend, to merely _stand_. He patted the windowsill and smiled, faintly. _Just a little longer_ would be comforting, but – it wasn’t true. Hogwarts had stood and must always stand, must always bear the wind and the rain and the sun and students’ hard-pounding feet and mis-fired spells. _You must endure,_ he thought at the castle, and tucked his hands in the sleeves of his robe. _You may not falter, nor fail._

He had been enjoying a cup of cocoa and an obscure spellbook when Bagnold’s head had appeared in his fireplace, her normally placid features alive with alarm. She had barked out the news and disappeared, and afterwards he had blown out most of the candles on purpose, so the light was low. He found it easier to think that way, enveloped in a slight dimness. It also made it hard for anyone who might be watching to see properly. 

He had traded the fire for a warming charm and re-set all of the passwords. He had taken the Sorting Hat down and set it on his desk for a little while, but it had just carried on snoring, so he slid it back onto the high shelf where it normally lived, smoothing the split brim with his fingers. He Floo’d Minerva first, and then Filius, Pomona and Horace, repeating the news to each freshly horrified face. They had discussed security measures and special student cases and then he had sat quietly in his office for a while.

Eventually he had turned his wireless on and heard the whole thing over again from Ted Tonks, and waited for the children to arrive. He had noticed after the horror in December that they seemed to have worked out their own sort of way of dealing with these things – he had watched the lines of communication beteween houses stretch out and grow, and smiled a grim smile. He had also watched the older students drilling in the courtyard, the Gryffindors mock-charging lines of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws with heads bent deep in books about ancient, deadly hexes. The Slytherins did nothing in public, but Phineas had told him that Malfoy drove them hard, down in the dungeons.

He heard a muffled thump and some cursing behind him, and turned away from the window.

“June 30, 1941,” he said to his visitor, closing his fingers around his wand.

“Third burning day of the First War,” his visitor said, and he released his wand.

“Alastor,” he said, and gestured towards the bowl of sweets on his desk.

“No thanks, Albus, gone off Acid Pops bit these days. Anyway. It wasn’t one of ours, this time. I checked every square inch of the ground -- twice.” Moody rubbed one of his facial scars and shifted from one leg to the other, eyes on the fireplace.

“This time,” Dumbledore said, and sighed, closing his eyes as he did so. “Scrimegour –“ he began, and Moody grunted.

“Made the rounds already. Ireland should be back on the Floo officially by Tuesday –“ Moody began.

“And unofficially?” the headmaster murmured, smiling faintly.

“Aurors, Ministry officials and medical emergencies only,” Moody said, and Dumbledore nodded. “I’ll be off now,” he added, and stepped forward. “Constant vigilence, Albus!” floated out of the fireplace as he vanished in a sheet of green fire.

Sometime later he was distracted from his contemplation of the roof by a soft fluttering noise. He turned and peered at the empty fireplace – no, not quite empty. There was a letter resting on the grate. He picked it up, looked at the address, and dropped it in his pocket.

Another hour passed before he heard young voices on the stairs, and the pounding of many feet outside his door. His visitors appeared to be having a muffled argument about Blibbering Humdingers.

“Please, come in, Mr. Prewett, Mr. Lovegood,” he said, stifiling a smile as the door popped open and the students fell in – one tall, red-haired and rangey, the other one narrow shouldered and stooped, and looking for all the world as if he had just done battle with a wild beast, and lost. He held still for a moment as their eyes adjusted to the low light.

“Came as soon as we heard, sir,” Prewett said, taking a deep breath. “All of the Gryffindors except for Lupin are present and accounted for, and, er, Potter said he left for Ireland yesterday with his parents. Sent Vance and Pettigrew down to Hufflepuff and Gideon took Black down to Slytherin –“

“—Ravenclaw are also all present and accounted for,” Lovegood cut in, pushing his hair out of his face. He had started wearing it long and looked more like a madman than ever.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Dumbeldore said. “Don’t worry about Mr. Lupin, Mr. Prewett, I have it on good authority that he and his parents are – quite as well as could be expected.”

“Thank you, sir, I’ll let his year-mates know,” Prewett said, and the headmaster gestured again towards the bowl of sweets on his desk.

“No thank you, sir,” they said, almost in unison, and Dumbledore watched Prewett shift uncomfortably in the long silence that followed, and Lovegood canted forward to peer at the various whirling devices on the shelves.

Dumbledore could see Lovegood was getting ready to ask a question when Lucius Malfoy strode into his office, pale and pointed and brandishing a snake-headed cane. Prewett stiffened but, Dumbledore noted with a jolt of pride, didn’t otherwise react. Lovegood gaped openly, only shutting his mouth when Malfoy glared at him. There was a faint clatter on the stairs, and then Amelia Bones walked into the room with Caradoc Dearborn and Marlene McKinnon. Prewett and Dearborn exchanged a glance and Dumbledore saw Prewett gathering himself to leave.

“Please stay, Mr. Prewett,” he said, and the boy stilled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw irritation ghost over Malfoy’s face.

“Hufflepuff are all safe and sound, sir,” Bones said, softly, and the headmaster smiled at her.

“Slytherin are all present and correct, sir,” Malfoy said, and closed his fingers around his cane, and Dumbeldore nodded. He had heard much the same from all of the Heads of House earlier, but it was comforting to have the children confirm it.

“I take it you have all heard the terrible news –“ he began, and there was a general murmur of assent, though he noticed Malfoy was conspicuously silent. “I have it on good authority that no wizards were involved – this time –“ he said, and several sets of shoulders relaxed. “The protections on the castle have been renewed, and security in Hogsmeade has been stepped up –“ he continued, until Malfoy cleared his throat.

“Are we – quite certain – that the Mu-“ Lucius began, and Dumbledore saw both Prewetts and Dearborn reach for their wands.

“Mr. Malfoy!” he said, firmly, and Malfoy coughed delicately before continuing.

“—Muggleborns shouldn’t be sent home? I mean, if they’re killing each other on public streets –“ he said, and that time even Lovegood started to look stern.

“No student shall be denied the shelter of Hogwarts without very good cause,” Dumbledore said, and ignored Malfoy’s huffing noise. “I have spoken to all of the Heads of House and they will keep you apprised of future developments,” he added, and everyone but his Gryffindors nodded, and then there was a very long silence.

“Thank you, sir. Good night, then,” Bones said, and turned to go. Malfoy nodded at him, as if they were equals, and followed her out. Lovegood murmured something he didn’t quite catch, and turned to go, whistling a mourneful tune, so that only Gryffindors remained. McKinnon and Dearborn were standing so close as to be almost leaning on each other, and the Prewetts looked ready to raze buildings to the ground. 

“Why don’t we just throw all of _them_ out, sir?” Gideon burst out, and Dumbeldore smiled faintly.

“Slytherin is as much an ancient, noble and honorable house as Gryffindor, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, Mr. Prewett,” he said. “Their methods may be – unpleasant, in the extreme – but their efforts are needed. Now, if you will excuse me –“ he said, and stood up.

“Of course, sir,” Dearborn said, “Good evening.” The others nodded and murmured their farewells and made for the door.

“Miss McKinnon,” Dumbledore said, pulling the letter out of his pocket as she turned to face him. “Could I trouble you to take this up to the Tower?” He held it out to her and she took it, a faint frown turning into a slow smile when she saw the handwriting on the envelope.

“Good night, sir,” she said, and slid the door closed behind her.

** 

Itchy -- itchy and hot and _hurt_. Rough wood scraped against his back as pale light spilled in through the windows, forcing his body to uncurl and arch upwards, and then to flip over, his breath coming hard and fast. Remus tried to retreat and fight at the same time, to not see and to last longer every time, to fight it, to hold back the tide of breaking bones and sprouting claws, or at least to make no noise. But the first tufts of fur growing out of fingers being compressed into paws pushed him over the edge, sent him screaming into the abyss.

**

They came back to the Tower to find the fire banked low and Frank and Alice asleep on the sofa, curled in on each other. Gideon and Fabian looked annoyed, but then Caradoc’s lips quirked into a knowing smile and he shook his head, spreading his amusement with a toss of his black curls. 

“Ahem,” he said, and Frank snapped awake, looking first guilty and then embarassed.

“’salright, lad, been a long day,” Caradoc murmured, as Gideon leaned forward to prod Alice awake. “Go on to bed,” he added, and Frank unfolded himself (he had become all arms and legs over the summer, Marlene realized) and headed up the stairs with an enormous yawn. Fabian ruffled Alice’s hair and pushed her towards the stairs as well, smiling faintly.

Somewhat later, when they made their own way up the stairs, Marlene took a brief detour to slide Andromeda’s note onto Sirius’ bedside table.


	20. Home Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 31 Photo: Two boys kissing on a wooden bench

“ –they say Dublin’s bloody on fire because of the Muggles and half of Slytherin is about to go home. I don’t know, ma’am, he hasn’t been right since yesterday, he bloody tried to bite me when I made to take the wireless away, pardon my French, –“ a boy said, and Remus heard static buzzing on the distance. 

“— _I_ heard a Gryffindor was killed, but they didn’t say which one. It’s been sore since yesterday, ma’am, I just wanted to wait and see if it would sort itself out –“ a girl said, and her chair scraped the floor as a chill went down his spine. 

“ – _I_ heard he got trampled by the mob. ‘Course he didn’t have much of a chance, did he, wobbling along on those sticks. Merlin, I’m never getting on a broom ever again –“ a different boy said, and Remus exhaled cautiously. If he was the Gryffindor who was meant to be dead, then possibly it was all going to be okay.

He had gathered from other stolen snippets of conversations that something had gone very, very wrong with the Irish muggles, and that apparently the Irish Ministry had cut themselves off from the International Floo.

 _Bugger_ , he thought, and fell asleep.

**

Remus woke up sometime later to find Madame Pomfrey changing the dressings on his legs, humming softly to herself. Her fingers were light but everything still hurt. Remus tried to make a noise of greeting but it came out sounding more like a whimper. She turned towards him, lips pursed, and ran her wand over him, whispering the words of a spell, and he sagged against the pillows, numb and weightless. 

“Lunch, Mr. Lupin?” she asked, after she had finished adjusting the bandanges on his hands and he blinked his agreement. She disappeared briefly and returned with a containing a glass of water and what smelled like a roast beef sandwich. He wriggled back against the headboard and held still while she settled the tray on his lap. With a little bit of extra concentration he was able to move his hands and lift his arms to take hold of the sandwich. The sharp tang of horseradish drifted past his nose and his stomach rumbled loudly.

“Not dead,” he said, a few bites into the sandwich, and her lips curved into a smile.

“Certainly not,” she said, and ruffled his hair, before slipping out to answer her bell.

**

He woke up for the third time to a darkened, silent room, and cried out before he could stop himself. His curtains twitched back and Madame Pomfrey appeared, wand in hand. He sat up a little, reassured, and held still while she poked and prodded and smoothed his bandages down. The pain potion he had drunk earlier made the world fuzzy and strange, and he was consumed by a desire to get out of the dark and into the bright red world of the Tower. Most of all he wanted his own bed, and the sound of Sirius whuffling and James snoring and Peter having muted arguments with his pillow.

“Go home now,” he managed, and she sighed. “Not dead,” he repeated, and swung his legs off the bed, reaching for his sticks and holding his breath so he didn’t make any more noise.

“Mr. Lupin, please – I’ll sent a note to the Tower, someone will come down to escort you shortly –“ she said, and he shook his head. That made the world tilt unpleasantly, so he stopped.

“Do it myself,” he said. “Go _home_ now,” he repeated, firmly, and slid off the bed, catching himself before he fell on the floor. He walked across the room and back again, choosing each footfall carefully, and turned to look at her. “Allowed,” he said. “By _myself_.”

“Merlin preserve me from Gryffindors,” Pomfrey murmured, but she helped him change out of the Hospital Wing pyjamas and settled his schoolbag on his shoulder. She handed him two small vials of pain potion, which he stuffed in his pocket.

**

Outside the Hospital Wing the corridors were dark and full of flickering shadows and the echoes of hollow voices. Remus had the feeling the portraits were talking about him as he lurched along, and he stopped periodically to take a deep breath and squint at them, arms crossed, chin up. Once or twice he felt a chill as a ghost drifted by, but he kept walking, guided by the patterns in the paving stones and the distant creak of moving staircases.

By the time he arrived at the foot of the first staircase he was exhausted, and his legs were trembling as if he had just been jit by a Jelly-Legs Jinx. He half-sat, half-fell against the railing and closed his eyes. He could hear people shouting and running below him, but the voiced were drifting away, towards Ravenclaw. _Up_ , he thought at himself, after a while. _Bed. Home_ , he added, and struggled to his feet. He closed his eyes and thought about Prewetts and how much he hurt, but when he opened his eyes none had appeared, so he started up the stairs alone.

He rested again after the third staircase, and again just before the Fat Lady, so that she would not try and send him back to the Hospital Wing. 

“’m fine,” he said, when she clucked at him, and tried not fall as he stepped through the portrait hole into the deserted Common Room, closing her gently behind him. “Home,” he said, half to himself, and walked a few paces before crumpling to the floor.

**

“—he’s bloody not dead, Black, I told you earlier, Dumbledore _always_ calls a school meeting when a student dies –“ a boy said, his voice tinged with irritation, and the Fat Lady made an uncertain noise.

“—bloody Ravenclaws, spreading rumors –“ a girl said, and sighed.

“—they’re still off the Floo, like, they’re probably just delayed – oh, Merlin – oh no –“ a different girl said, much closer, and Remus felt cold fingers on his neck.

“ – get a Prewett,” the boy said, and Remus shook his head, dislodging the fingers. The carpet was rough and itchy beneath his cheek but the room seemed warmer. Perhaps someone had built the fire up while he was sleeping.

“Not dead,” he mumbled, and tried to sit up, but someone had their hand on his shoulder and he couldn’t move.

“Remus – lie still, love, it’s all right, Gideon will be right here,” the girl said, and Remus tilted his head enough to see it was Marlene McKinnon kneeling next to him, with black smudges of varying sizes hovering behind her. Three of the shorter smudges seemed to be struggling with some of the larger ones. 

“Let me _go_ – Remus –“ said the short smudge that sounded like Sirius.

“Home,” he said, more firmly, and pushed himself to his knees, dislodging the hand on his shoulder. The room tilted in an unpleasant way; he felt McKinnon grab his arm, and fell towards her without thinking. He landed on something soft and warm and closed his eyes, and tried to gather his strength. 

“Remus!” Sirius said again, and then he was _there_ , all elbows and tangled hair, his breath hot and wet on Remus’ neck. Remus wriggled a hand out and patted him on the back.

“Not dead,” he said again, into what felt, to his mouth, like an ear. He stuck his tongue out to be sure and Sirius squeaked with surprise and jerked away. He could hear James and Peter talking somewhere nearby, and then there was warmth at his back and more hands on him. He could hear voices all around him, but he couldn’t work out what they were saying.

“What _happened_?” James hissed in his ear, and Remus shrugged.

“’m fine. Fell down,” he said, when James prodded him in his side. Then Sirius was back, his hair tickling Remus’ nose.

“Can see that, mate,” Peter said, around a snort of laughter. The other voices rose and fell and drifted away.

“Did the Muggles – get you?” Sirius whispered, and Remus shook his head.

“Wolf – wolfhound,” he said. “Knocked me down,” he added, “smelled funny. Didn’t like strangers. Fell on the grate. Hot,” he said, and raised his bandaged hands as proof. 

James sighed, and McKinnon made a distressed noise. Sirius wriggled closer, his thin fingers settling over one of Remus’ hands. 

“’m fine now,” Remus said, and tried sitting up again – this time it worked. He opened his eyes and saw that most of the black smudges had wandered off. “Tired. Own bed,” he added, looking at McKinnon.

“Hospital Wing,” said a familiar male voice, and Remus looked up at Gideon Prewett and shook his head. He wiggled around and got free of Sirius and James and Peter and lurched to his feet, batting away the hands that reached out to steady him. Prewett dropped into a graceful crouch and looked him in the eye for a long moment. Remus felt James and Sirius move back to stand next to him, their arms curling around his waist.

“Not dead,” Remus repeated, and Gideon shook his head, smiling faintly.

“We’ll look after him,” Sirius and James said, together, and Remus blinked twice in surprise. 

“Please let him stay, Gideon, I’ll help as well,“ Peter said. Gideon’s smiled broadened slightly and he shook his head again.

“All right,” he said, “go on with yourselves, then,” and Remus felt both Sirius’ and James’ hands clench his waist in triumph.

**

Later, after Sirius and James had gently guided him up the stairs and then to the bog, and Sirius had covered the act of helping him into his pyjamas with an extended (and realistic) imitation of Madame Pince berating Lucius Malfoy for being in the Restricted Section without a note, Remus crawled into bed and exhaled slowly. The pain potion was starting to wear off, but the bed was soft and didn’t smell of disenfectant, and that was good enough.

He was almost asleep when the mattress dipped and three separate, warm weights settled around him, one at his back, two at his front. He cracked his eyes open and waited.

“Don’t you ever do that again, you prat,” said the weight at his back – Sirius – and he felt a hand brush over his shoulder briefly.

“Do what?” he said, not moving.

“Die,” said one of the weights at his front – James – and he felt a forehead brush against his fingers on his pillow.

“Didn’t die,” Remus said, and yawned.

“Thought you did,” said other weight at his front – Peter -- and Remus felt fingers rest on his hair.

“Go on, Peter – pick something Remus’ll like,” James murmured, and Remus drifted off to Peter doing his best impression of Henry VI on BBC Radio 4.


End file.
